Prisoner (Poetry)

I have put away my love —
left her in a cool and darkened room
I sometimes hear her sighing through the wall
but while she sleeps we both at last have peace
and troubles leave us — let our souls
heal and settle for a dream of living.

My love was on the road so long — sent searching
for someone I could not be sure was lost
her heart grew sore, her spirit tired from weeping
the miles stretched on and years ached raw from keeping
all that hope alive — until at last she came
limping back — a beggar at my door.

Some prodigal — a refugee — a secretly-born waif
I hide her in a cell — sad prisoner
that chained herself to wild, romantic notions —
a quest that failed — the fading vision’s dim
old faith in tatters hanging pitifully thin —
my love is frail — and better off locked in.