I sit in a wooden chair, creaking
Though little I move
I stare through a cracked dirty window
Air filters, wafts the smells of happiness
Of freedom.
Yet I stay because I must
Follow a tradition passed down to me
It is an honor to sit in the chair
They said to me as they walked by
Through the door of no return
When the day stretches into night
The biting cold punctures my skin
I ignore the pain and focus
On the starlight shining on my lap
I embrace the welcoming stars
With a smile of my own
Until it is my turn to walk through the door of no return
I must face the sun on the horizon

© Naomi Wesley