Hostage
I used to wonder how hostages could
love the terrorists who take them,
how bonds are created with criminals
until my own chains were released.
There is a yearning to feel the cold steel on my wrists.
A desire to know I am not to blame
for the direction my life takes.
I miss the ease with which I could
look to another to decide for me.
I look back and realize, though,
that I was treading her path, created just for me.
I walked only the road I was led to,
not seeing the many crossroads I blindly passed by.
I look out now on countless directions,
gorging on freedom, like a starving man.
I have no map, no compass, no direction.
Only a sense that what I choose,
good or bad, will be my choice,
and no other can take the credit or the blame.
Now the only chains I wear are of my own design.
So I choose a path, and start walking.
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