Friday, August 10, 2007

A 17 Year Sentence

Seventeen years is a long, long time,
You wouldn’t get that for a heinous crime.
Manacled together in wedded bliss,
I’m glad we’ve been shackled as long as this.

There are no guards in sentry towers
To demonstrate their mighty powers.
Except the ones that you might find
At every corner of my mind.

Some men sit around and mope,
Or silently climb down a rope,
But I am satisfied to dwell
Within the confines of this cell.

I have no willingness to roam
At distance from my prison home,
Freedom lies, ironically,
Accepting one’s captivity.

This open prison, with all its tears
Has held me now for seventeen years.
Despite all this, it’s really droll
I’m not applying for parole.

It doesn’t seem to make much sense
To get beyond the barbed wire fence.
My porridge tastes much better than
The porridge in the real world can.

And so I wear the uniform
That is the married person’s norm
And, earnestly, like one devout,
Pray I may never be kicked out.

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