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Dark and Cold
The walls feel dark that surround me.
Nobody near to hear my cries calling for help;
What happened to me? The bright blue color I am
feels faded. No longer bright, bouncy, and bold;
now in fright, shaky, and cold.
I linger around the small space. I contemplate where
I should go and what I should do next.
Can I fly out? Can I run out? Can I ever get out?
The walls feel like they're getting closer,
caving in on me.
I can’t do anything. So I sit in the corner, scared to move.
I am shaking like a plane when it first takes off.
Sad with tears that drip down my face uncontrollably.
Cold like the ice baths I used to enjoy.
I am all alone, in a box that is black
as if there was no light from the moon
and no warmth from the sun.
I just want to fly in the bright blue skies and
the green grasses below me. But I can’t anymore
all because someone took me from my home.
That was my home, not this box.
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This is an ekphrastic poem written about Aleta Ross-Steward’s “Disintegration” (2020)