When the drudgery becomes all the reason for language to evaporate and turn to a bitter scent put to the winds.
When the light of the day is seen through the bars high above this dungeon cell. Denied the sky, forbidden from walking about. When the light fades and the darkness falls, there are only eyes that look into the perpetual gloom, and hands that feel naught but rusted iron and the cold stone floor.
For only the crime of being born in worn rags. For the sin of not being dressed in silk.
For no sail will hoist to leave these lands to open waters. No new world of weird and wild dreams. No voyage other than one to bring this ship back to these coal black shores.
No brine upon a sailor’s back. No wind in this doldrum called a harbor.
Only a gypsy dream that steals away in the night. Only the wineless bottles to lay empty at feet. The feeling of freedom that long since left on distant highways, sent through storm clouds and desert road.
Only the heat from a relentless sun. Only the gazeless indifference of ill angels above.
To be sent in calamity, this life has been. To struggle back to tired feet is all the hope that one can have.