"A Prison Like No Other", 4/8/05

In youth I felt the stifling press
of a most exquisite prison,
its fragrant petals choking off
my very noble visions.
But Time has always shown himself
quite dutiful a warden,
and lest his flower-field jails grow full,
he transfers all his burdens.
The guards have a curious practice,
in life's correctional facility,
of leaving off the fetters to
achieve maximum security.
There is no floor for stable ground,
no definition for lack of walls,
and maddening are the footsteps
down its nonexistent halls.
And yet a ceiling it does have
so blots out all the sky;
never do I see the stars,
but nighttime fills my eye.
Seldom does a visitor come;
I think I have but one:
it's old Dementia in the dark
with stories of the sun.