Imprisonment

Incredulous, though none may see the bars
But me, imprisoned in this dreadful place
Where cloudiness obscures the wealth of stars
And all success gets counted as disgrace.

A Prophet never goes without his due
Except in his own home among his kin,
So what I’m living now is nothing new.
We build ourselves the prisons we are in.

And yet I know I’d do it all again.
Each choice was right, by conscience deemed correct.
No telling it would fall apart or when
The dreams that wove my life would disconnect.

I look at all the choices I have made,
Each one by love and putting people first.
But still in all I get a failing grade.
What I believed was best is seen as worst.

So lingering in this systemic blend
I notice dreams that tease my lonely heart,
But is it mine to sink or to ascend?
How could I find the energy to start?

What I have built by everything that’s right
Has turned on me, but damage is confined
As long as I’m alone inside this night
And leave my dreams of daylight far behind.

Perhaps I can survive the martyr’s lot,
It was my choice to be a source of giving.
The giving heart is one thing I have got,
But what about a dream of my own living?

It can’t be had without a prison break.
The bars for me are those I always loved,
Enduring anything for other’s sake,
Ignoring this dark corner where I’m shoved.

Perhaps my dreams of happiness for me
Can soothe my mind until my time is served
And death at last arrives to set me free
And show me if this was what I deserved.

John H. Bidwell