The Prisoner

I woke from a salvatory slumber,
Transported from idyllic fields,
Full to the mountaintops,
With dead ideas.
Dream-comfort dissipates,
Returning the scene of solitary confinement,
Forcing the blank canvas of concrete into my view.
My face aches for my son’s thawing embrace,
With no window of opportunity;
Only constructed concepts holding me at bay from the noumenal,
Culling the memories of personal phenomenons,
Even God has left this room,
With no room for the absolute tyranny of absolutes,
Usurped by torch-lit mobs of accidental freedom fighters.
The jailer(s) is/are only implied through the echoes of footsteps,
Never visibly exercising his/her/its/their will,
Leaving me to my own stretching rack.
I have no tools fit to tunnel out of lucidity,
Shadows always whispering reaffirmations of denials,
Cave-painting simultaneous world scenes,
Overlapping, each unsatisfactorily replacing the past.
My desire overcomes,
Throws me against the stones,
Craving escape in the form of communal convergence,
To have and to hold the plant stalk in the sully public grace of Apollo,
From inside-out,
But the wailing wall holds,
Throwing my gaze back,
To focus inside-in.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s