This Prison


this prison that claims
me feels a lot like life.
death is close. breathing
into me. this life is death.
on dark days I would rather
death be still closer.
if the sands were truly
running out, would I struggle?
if life shortened would I feel
the same? or would I fight
break bars, break time
to live in the moment.

*About the photo: The leaves of Live Oaks fall in spring as the new leaves push the prior season’s leaves off the trees. These were an amazing pile of color and contrast which entranced me.