This haunted man - a prisoner,
his bitter mix beneath the tongue,
tastes the outer, tastes the inner,
and gasps for breath with broken lung.
The ilk of those who should be free,
who limit more than most among
the ball and chain, the tyranny.
In all he sees, a parable
to loose the soul, to disagree.
His acre lots, though arable,
such fertile grounds yet long the plow,
both beautiful, and terrible,
was tortured then, is tortured now.