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 Shackles January 22. 2003 The Iranian The distant sound of an engine and laughter Break the silence of the dawn As I stand on the balcony taking in the frosty breeze I grip my cup of tea, trying to absorb its warmth Searching for something other than concrete paved streets Or the lonliness that engulfs my soul All these man-made treasures We learn to covet so well Fail to fulfill this Being Continually longing for something more This insatiable hunger lingers in the depths I try to flee from the voices that haunt me Through neat guises of educational endeavors Wanting only to escape myself Hoping that the crossing of oceans will drown the ghosts Some prisons are not made of brick or stone You can be a captive of your own mind Unable to break through the shackles of the past
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