The net shines ahead of me,
smoothed wooded frame
painted stark white
reflecting all manner of sunlight
straight into corneas,
for I am stood in a place that is begging,
just asking to be shone on and shunned,
but surging forward through
the laser beam designed to confuse
is the only option I have left.

If I want to make it
to that open doorway, that holed
filter into new pastures,
I must keep on pressing myself further,
I must take this foot and place it ahead,
drag my other with it over and over
no matter how heavy this world,
this feeling of dread,
these pangs of fear and worry still
strike at my own frame,
they are loud
but I can cry louder
and I am tired
of falling to them.