How like a prison is my cubicle
How wary is my body on this chair.
How still my heart and yet my thoughts are fickle.
How fast they fly to you who are not here.
How elegant your letters and your thoughts
How gentle was your touch upon my throat.
And yet you killed my words and all I brought…
You were no lover but an unsubtle goat.
As in this mental jail I’m truly trapped,
I’ll use this time to write and I may pray.
Perhaps my mind can extricate a map..
From which I’ll plot the route to get away.
Some prisons which seem external are inside
Yet in such captive grief soe humans have die.
How my heart sings 