Captive
Captive
this pillow of leaves
is heaven reversed
an erased nest
who crafts me
uses iron instead of wood
cannot bend, or break or burn me
but melt and mould into any shape
if I lose me—
not a man but an object
a channel
an entry point—
will I notice
sleep or wake
dark or light
he says
your heart is a sheep
that thinks it's a lion on fire
and knits me using shorn wool
I am the gentle caged man
less finished than
the harness that holds me upright
he calls for me
forgets I'm still chained
in his dungeon
stuck between freedom and doom
no hero to capture a horse to the rescue
or heroic fights till the end of my body is reached
tragic costume, mottled husk
this pillow of leaves
is heaven reversed
an erased nest
who crafts me
uses iron instead of wood
cannot bend, or break or burn me
but melt and mould into any shape
if I lose me—
not a man but an object
a channel
an entry point—
will I notice
sleep or wake
dark or light
he says
your heart is a sheep
that thinks it's a lion on fire
and knits me using shorn wool
I am the gentle caged man
less finished than
the harness that holds me upright
he calls for me
forgets I'm still chained
in his dungeon
stuck between freedom and doom
no hero to capture a horse to the rescue
or heroic fights till the end of my body is reached
tragic costume, mottled husk