The Prisoner II

I like it out here, the 
voices of children, the 
yells and giggling, the 
remonstrating of adults - 
is real

whereas the ones inside
I try and pretend
do not exist
stay with me incessantly
whispering of what was
what is
and what is to come

I am my own Delphic
Oracle - throw some
grit onto the flame
and it spurts green, red, blue
with living opinion,
defaming all I
think about all I
do all I
know

and trying to separate 
them from what my 
real ears hear and my 
real eyes see 
is a daily exertion 
almost beyond me - 
my personal battle 
of justness and 
good cause

I like it out here, where 
the trees sway, and the 
traffic rumbles away 
over there, past the fence

and my hair is blown 
onto skin and 
plays about my 
eyes and chin - it

makes me feel like 
a normal woman 
living, smiling, talking

but the decisions are 
hard - the voices 
play with me, 
disorientate, remove my 
compass, map, until I 
hate my own head 
that has brought me 
a long way

to a lost silence - 
the jagged edge of 
parted land the 
metaphor of schism 
the existential rend 
the severed cavern 
where I must think 
and do
with all their weight 
of opinion

elbowing me in any 
direction, feckless 
bodiless veracities 
that play with me 
and will not set me free

previous poem