One, two, three, four
Four corners of the wall that keep me safe from outdoor.
Five, six, seven, eight
Eight steps that I walk to look outside of the gate.
Few more steps forward I take to leave
A yearning to be somewhere I want to achieve.
But then I get pulled backward by an invisible force,
Work, money, bills, repeat binds me to stay are the source.
The chained routine of life that they say makes a living
But no one sees it’s a dead body that’s walking.
Frustrations mount to panic
Open spaces become claustrophobic.
The time it seems I feel I don’t have much
Tick-tock it goes as the sand of life goes in a rush.
But time was never against but a guide
To choose between a false luxury or true free leisure to life is what I should decide.