I want to laugh, to sing, to dance, but I cannot.

I want to run, to jump, to play, but I cannot.

I want to let my mind wander, be heard, to see, but I cannot.

I want to be happy, be sad, be up, be down, but I cannot.

I want to be surprised, be lighthearded, be silly, but I cannot.

I want to be free, an individual, open, honest, and aware, but I cannot.

Why you ask, do I believe this is so, I will give you a glimpse then into my soul.

I cannot roam, nor feel, I can only be, locked away in this city like a caged animal waiting patiently, for extinction to take me.

Pacing, ever pacing, back and forth, while the hoards of jubilent street gawkers file past my cage and point, as I sit hopelessly lonely and bored.

Staring blankly at the anger and pain in my eyes, pacing ever pacing, too oblivious to my plight as their children utter elated cries.

Labored breathing due to this ever present weight, of hopelessness, uselessness, and an undecided fate, that I feel as I sit on the brink, of thrusting my soul tortured body against the walls behind which I slink.

These walls that confine me, that keep me caged and entraped, were once meant to protect me, from this and from that.

Oh to be free again, to roam the valleys and hills, away from the gawkers and hoards of pitiless swills.

To feel the wind in my face as I run through meadow and dale, dancing with the animals, the feel of the wild, open spaces, through an unconcealing veil.

Acres of wildnerness call me, the country simpleness of life, the smallness of it all, the enormity of my need, a waterfalls call.

My dream, everpresent, to be as I have been taught, it is all I would ever want, but alas, I cannot.

©1991 Lloydene Fay Hill