Prison

After Psalm 107:10-14

The prison is cold, and damp,

a generator of a chill that

freezes and dries the soul,

the scurrying sounds 

in dark corners reminding me

of my cellmates, sharpening

the knowledge of my offense

that has led to affliction and

irons, irons I joyfully clamped

on my own legs, afflictions

I welcomed in ignorance and 

stupidity, believing them 

to be freedom. spurning

the good and embracing slavery,

not seeing as the cage 

with no door, no key, until

I cried out and the light

flooded my cell.

Photograph by Denny Muller via Unsplash. Used with permission.