...wax poetic.

- The Prisoner -


There is a pause, and then movement,
another pause, then movement again.
All within a split second, over and over.
The pounding rings loudly in my ears,
and the prisoner cries out for freedom.
The prisoner has been trapped far too long,
but…
can the prisoner live without it’s stone walls and shackles?
It has found freedom in the past,
and has come running back begging
for the safety of the stone walls
and the security of the steel door
which it is desperately pounding on now.
Upon it’s last return to it’s cell I became angry
and cast the key into the vast desert outside the prison walls.
As time passed, a path appeared in that desert,
and the prisoner stood in it’s cell, day by day,
staring at that path through a tiny window.
Then…
one day, along that path, a woman appeared,
and with her she had her own prisoner.
They were both beautiful.
Suddenly, the woman stopped to pick something up,
as she did a gleam of light hit the object
and the prisoner in the cell became frantic.
From the tiny window the prisoner could see that the woman now
held the key to it’s freedom.
The prisoner’s cries had not gone unheard
and as the woman stood on her path staring at the window,
the prisoner wondered,
would she use that key?