PRISONER OF TIME 1 © 2007

I feel exhausted from writing,

But the restless, rebellious words

Stage a public demonstration,

Inviting all the media

To witness my disconnection.

They accuse me of mental ethical failure,

And publish my intellectual imprisonment,

Exposing me to the judgement of silence,

Where the once fertile mind now wanes,

In a desert of ideas that dissipate into the air.

In prison retreat, I am condemned,

To forced labour in the quarries of the mind,

Each stone, an idea to be refined,

In the hope that the cleansing might feel,

In the soul, the hermit's wind,that blows solitary, seeking peace.

And so, I continue, weary,

But unable to escape this call,

Where the words, with force and fury,

Drag me to an internal battlefield,

Until, finally, the wind brings the calm I so seek,

And the soul, cleansed, finds its way.

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