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Shackles are History


Rusty Broadspear

Dying within control, tight, restricted, insane,

Crawling inwards, outwards, scraping nails, inhumane.

A dripping tap, a rattling chain,

In every box, in everybody, in every vein.

Some years ago I left my box collapsing, in the rain.

Stopped, turned around, kicked it hard, again and again.

Finally I walked away, tears of laughter, free of pain,

Elation effervescing, unable to contain.

Choice, freewill, integrity, freely rein,

My words written, without restriction, devoid of stain.

Unreservedly spoken in a ‘boxless world’ campaign.

Insanity annihilated in this inspirational world of sane.

Fragrances of nature, too complex to explain,

Sweeping through my being, like a silent express train.

Sun rays and Moon beams morph within my brain,

Growing ever brighter, as do bubbles in champagne.

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