Here is the link for the publication: Literary Yard.
The artist’s prison
by Andrada Costoiu
Your fingers are dancing molding the clay,
In shapes that your heart has requested,
Touching with the force and desire of your inmate thoughts,
That promise to become something.
You clothing, covered in the black ash of your past creations,
Is overheating your arms and legs,
Your red and blistered palms are as red and as raw as you feel inside.
You stare for a moment,
The mold that you shaped is delivering confidential information about your soul.
Afraid to share it, you put it in a dark corner of a room,
You grin, willing it safe of peering eyes.
Outside is dark and the gravel sounds under your feet,
You walk away, vulnerable,
Passing and nodding at people,
Hiding your red and blistered palms in your pockets.
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