Locked up. (poem)
hours and hours of solitude,
a life within four walls.
Stormy silence,
boring soul,
Tired soul,
lost look on the horizon.
I'm doing the lock-in,
but...
my thoughts are free.
I also count,
with pencil, paper, and imagination,
to write and write.
I can evoke memories.
I can create stories.
I can let my mind generate ideas.
I don't mind being locked up,
if my thoughts are free.
As long as my thoughts are free,
are embodied in the paper,
I don't mind being locked up.
