absorbing my spilled spirit into
its fiber.
Even then no masterpiece becomes
of my separated self.
Stale lines steal minutes from my life
as a familiar form takes shape,
distracting me from my task with
incessant banging and clanging on the
bars of her paper cage.
The ink destroys and recreates my thoughts
as wills collide in a fight for survival-
hers for release from a shallow prison of pages
mine for the return of my sanity and
relief from the chaos she wages.
As minutes become hours, I press on
knowing I must prevail.
Words distort themselves into a cryptic smear
seen through the sting of my tearful stare.
Approaching desperation, I write without
care for rhythm or form.
The reflections pouring from my pen reveal
nothing of what rages within.
An arsenal of emotions attack from every side-
wrath, loss, shame, and pain conspire against
my serenity.
Still others I cannot own for fear
they will consume what remains of
my identity.
This night I envy those who sleep in
peaceful oblivion to my torment.
Would that I could enter dreams where
steps of faith do not lead to disappointment.
Exiled captives scream unsettling tidings
demanding to be dealt with outside the
bounds of this paper cage.
RLT � 2000
