The silent, frozen landscape lies
just beyond these prison bars --
remote, dead, immutable, unholy,
under a half-wit moon.
And I -- bound and gagged
in bands of white cotton,
scarce breathing, without sleep
as the guard stalks the corridors
soundless, his keys muffled mercifully,
as many breathe in sleep all around.
I live by a sea of lost souls
in white metal cubicles,
a dormitory of the damned.
Every day the same, every night
la meme, marching lockstep
through misery, no choice but to
follow the pattern, the routine
of boredom and sameness, while
is life in all its withering.
See all poetry for Maura Levine #00901149