Friday, May 22, 2009

The Prisoner


He looks through the same dull window
Every day
When he remembers to look up at all

There is a grand old world out there
Of memory
But the world inside has grown very small

To what end?
To what means?
A self-serving universe
In a never ending spin

To what use?
To what plan?
An Escher-like existence
To return where it begins

He looks through the same dull glasses
Time, time again
As if hoping will make a better day

The prisoner does not question
Just doing time
He pauses and he turns his gaze away
tjp 5/222/09

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