No wall that you ever build will be high
enough to fence me in. When I've explored
each inch, planted, cultivated, grown bored
inside, your bars a ladder to the sky.
There's no freedom without walls. I defy
anyone to try life exposed. Unmoored
thoughts wilt when desert winds rise up and blow.
Tie me. Chain me. All bonds become, in time,
lattice on which imaginations climb.
The masters worked with limits. Take Van Gogh.
Inside a wall his soul had space to grow.
And so may mine. This twelve line poem will rhyme.
sar 2010
Love the finale (grins)!
ReplyDeleteThanks! But does the poem make sense to you?
ReplyDeleteSimone, I think this is one of your finest poems! It is smart, pithy and original. The punchy last line is great - a clever illustration of your point! Having said that, I am sympathetic with your argument from the point of view of art, but in relation to life I am a bit uncomfortable with it because I think it is those of us overwhelmed with choice to romanticise the opposite condition. People condemned to real imprisonment (social or actual) do not usually become van Gogh, they usually become emotionally and physically crippled. However, if you read this as a statement of defiance, it works fine!
ReplyDeleteThanks Jo! It was meant as a statement of defiance.
ReplyDeleteThe ABBAABCDDCCD form was tricky.
Defiance, good :) What's so clever about it is the way the poem illustrates the principle - love it!
ReplyDelete