This is a piece of flash fiction based on my life and also reflects a chapter in the non-fiction book I'm writing about the price paid from greed, envy, deception, and more.

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Reaching now, it will be thirteen years

Time stretched as glass

But be it grief, each day that passed

Away from all

I stumbled, before the fall

Arising when I awoke

I could feel

The tightening of the rope

Now coming thirteen years

Quiet all, but for waning tears

How long must be this offensive rife?

Will there come the day..?

I can leave this wicked place.

The silence which screams

Each day

And Every night

Fraught am I these many years

Once the many tears

Buried away now

Masked by my many fears

How I long to flight!

From the grim grey

Flesh, burns inside

No escape, decided by those near.

Those, once held dear

So reaching now my plight

Nearing thirteen years

I cannot say what I might

Or to the ramparts

Where the gates close tight

I watch through the eves

Each and every night

I fall into my dreams

Where I dare to fight

I awake to the witten walls

No man too kind

To tell me of my plight

So now thirteen years

Still waning tears

Buried away

I do not know

Do I dare to flight?

Do I rise to fight..

Or do I die

A story told, by the writer on this night

Thirteen years ago

I had the most terrible foresight

I spoke it out loud

A sophic melancholy whispered..

These walls built

Never meant for me to leave

Upright, as they rose

I watched, solemn

Taken away, as quickly as it stood.

My stolen bequeathed, Birthright.

By Andrea Winifred Royall Jones

From: United States

Website: https://www.linkedin.com/in/andrea-wr-jones-writer-poet-54413b1b