This poem actually responds to the Not Without Poetry prompt for the day. It doesn’t follow the prompt as laid out but starts from it and wanders off on its own weird tangent.
I’m not overly keen on the way it turned out but do like bits of the first two stanzas (third is too melodramatic for my taste – where do I get this stuff from?). This is one for future reworking, I think.
Imagine your life’s ley lines
like webs of connective tissue
joining and holding separate
all the pasts you’ve grown.
They fill a room of infinite space,
some distant and unobserved,
some barely formed, still touch-tacky,
tangling your every move.
Find my thread, can you? Does it touch
you still? I found it bound me more,
the more I struggled to leave.
Take a knife and, please, cut me free.