My world is in my head....
As the cage clamps shut, words of hatred turn the lock.
Who is the jailer rattling the keys, I know not.
I think of blame, society, parents, myself, who is the clergy,
who nods & smiles & pretends not to be responsible.
Who is the visitor who brings the cake baked with a file.
I wave between the bars. I speak of hope with the hangman. I
metatate, comtemplate, I chatter of metaphysics and tomorrow
with others.
Freedom, simple pleasures, is it more than a thought!
I flatter this beauty. I say it turns me on.
I tell the cyanide capsules -- they have talent & may fulfill
themselves someday.
I hear the Parole Board's awful verdict & recommend a
compromise. They say I sleep with the enemy who is
dangerous. They say I sleep with the convicted, but I reassure
him of better days to come.
I am the ideal prisoner.
They praise me on my conduct, keep up the good work. They
increase my sentence, I am so grateful, it could of been worse.
No one remembers who constructed this hell & peopled its
cells. No one remembers the blue prints & the plans, the
steady construction that sweeps the land & those who dream of
fantastic escapes.
And even I, eight years down, patiently waiting the day, my skin
flaking & drying up, yellowing like the pages of old paperbacks,
my hair turning gray & receding, my strength weak from
remorse, cannot remember the world outside my head, the
way it was, the crime, why was I borne.
Even today, as my thoughts are reflected upon, I'm curious
about the days ahead.
Just the hope of freedom is my cane & the lingering thought
of my Entrance is my shame.
Still as each day fades into night, and watching the pigeons
outside my cage, I too look forward to the day I take flight.
I have changed, into the Prisoner.