When the lights came on and I awoke, I noticed the walls
had risen again, trees and years of hiding now diminishing
any hint of my old sky’s grandeur–its tangerine dawn and
glowing ember sundown–from my sight. Or merely from my vision?
Have the trees really grown so tall over these years,
or have I dimished in size or soul? Maybe so.
I can’t recall if it was I who wished to be shut off
from the flora, the fauna, the coarse or silent vox populi
that vexed my shallow self. I was the architect
and builder of these barriers between me and them,
you and me, but these blocks of words upon which I built
my own prison have lost the strength to hold me anymore.
The words, the blocks, have become mere tokens in a game,
a test of strength none of us have the strength to play anymore.
No longer can I buttress this keep in which I keep my feelings;
hell, I couldn’t even turn locks tagged
Exit and Shut Down.