There might be no time.
There might not be time enough
to step out of this silk-spun cocoon
and walk under the glare of
the ruthless, mirthless sun
after the security of artificial lights.
It takes years to tell a man from another
and an eternity to tell a face from a mask.
There might never be courage at all
to plunge into eyes lined with false lashes
and trace the route of tears,
or read out loud the unwritten tales of defeat.
There might never be freedom enough
to swim against the flow
or ride on the winds of change
or hear a turbulent sea sing
the song to set all free.