When the prisoner is finally set free
the bars are now
he flinches from even the lightest touch
shies from the sun, takes cover in rain
isolation his only prize
for such patient endurance.
he was free to hate
love is the only option.
He finds this freedom
Though wildflowers wave like arms
he shuns their embrace
though the wind dusts his skin
he cannot run through open fields
his feet are heavy
even with no chains
he has become the restraint
he always resented.
And that’s when the prisoner who is finally set free
crumbles to the ground and weeps
for even in defeat
his captors have won
even with unfettered hands and feet he is
unable to run into the night
unable to stop dreaming of freedom
and simply be free.
© Monica Day