Locked
up
I
want to get thin enough
to
slip through the bars of my cell.
But
I don’t know what good
escape
would do me. I am unable
to
view the surrounding terrain
from
my lone high window up on the wall.
The
main thing is, whether here or there,
I
would still be securely locked up
in
the embrace of my Beloved.
The
cell is bare but the prisoner
is
an old ascetic and is well content to be so.
I
speak of some sort of escape
but
where in the world would I go?
I
long for an experience
much
more substantial
than
this careworn world can give.
O
child of God, not just the world is careworn. It’s also
the jaded views of
your most persistent impressions.
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