January: Year-day 11

             
                                           
                                                 
January: Year-day 11
                                                 
So here I am: in prison, on an isle,
or a satellite circling a dead moon;
and I'm likely not to leave, late or soon,
likely to only seldom enjoy a smile.
                                                      
It's not because of lives lost in the trial
of a wrong war/ or being out of tune
with nature, man and/ that Person, my Rune,
by most called "God", a name I'd hedge/ awhile.
                                                 
What touches others touches me of course,
but circumstance and beings close at heart
and my own wants/ have more imprisoned me,
drawn me back upon myself, made remorse
I don't know how to stave/ the somber barque
I drift in; made my cowardice/ the sea.
                                                     
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