By D.G.

Does he cry for freedom?
I will never know.
He runs about, albeit a random
pattern, but his glorious mane hangs down low.

He looks at me with pleading eyes
As if to say
Our last adieu; the final goodbyes.
I carry on my day

but it’s no longer the same.
My time is filled with memories oh so bright,
He wails out a name, any name,
to aid him in his escape from the confined light.

My heart explodes like an active volcano.
Lava spills and emotions flow.
He continues to cry, don’t give up on me, no!
His last desperate calls echo and glow

in that small display case.
Yes, transparent for all to see
but whatever is left of his face
is as transparent as his buckled knee.


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