The blinding

Photo by Raouf Nouari on Unsplash.

My eyes fall, sewn to the floor

The stones are like thorns jiggering my paws.

In the night, when I am forced to go barefoot

With a pitchfork protruding my back

I place my foot on the sharp solid rock

And wince as the pain travels to my skull.

It is normal.

This life is normal.

I have come to believe in normal.

When the sky shines and the sun peeks its eyes,

My back will bend to harvest the fruits of my buck.

I try to swear.

To tell the skies I have suffered enough.

But in truth,

I am not sure I have.

There may still be more that my soul delights.