metallic, man-made, solid
a perfect prison.
There are keys and combinations
of words, that will get you into
my corridors, and maybe I’ll follow –
open a few doors
always behind you.
Slowly, the lights go out,
“there’s nothing here to see”
Then I sit alone and watch you grow dim
pondering how the entrance
is the only exit.
A reply to, or personal variation of, Stephen’s wonderful piece: On The Value of the Heart – I suggest reading his, it’s really much better.