The Prodigal Muse
Trapped in the meter
a prisoner of rhyme
My spirit indicted
a felon of time
A minstrel’s disciple
epistle in hand
The sound and the rhythm
my soul’s contraband
New couplets my jailer
their sentences cursed
The key to their freedom
locked deep in the verse
And serving in silence
chalk marks on the wall
I listen intently
for one voice to call
Awaiting its pardon
this exile to end
My words liberated
— to forever ascend
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)
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