A poem, My Prison

My Prison


I was born in a cage of
roots under a tree.

I dreamt;

of eating
the luscious fruit nourished
on the souls of me and mine,

of bathing
in the warm sunshine from
a clear blue sky.

I have found the fountain
from which a dip will
sprout a stalk, a tunnel
through the hard packed earth.

But how can I escape
and leave behind all
who distrust the stalk,
who refuse the fountain?

How will the fruit satisfy?
I will not forget from
where its sweetness comes.

How will the sun console?
I cannot erase the images
of the cold deep within the hole.

Alas, the bars that hold me
are not the roots of wood.