on some days
the walls ossify
close in
constrain my freedom
the place becomes
a cell
where I pace the floor
marking off time
in the cell
where the prisoner
relives
his failures
ad infinitum
counting the days
till his rehabilitation
when the captives
are set free
and the insanity ceases
in the cell
where the monk
learns discipline
contemplates
the mystery
of becoming more
and less like a child
and conjures
the transformation of himself
Posted in: NaPoWriMo
The elegance of your writing renders its depth more devastating. My sleep will be troubled tonight as I struggle to work out how I might hope to conjure the transformation of myself.