Friday, October 19, 2018


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.

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