The Prodigal Muse

Trapped in the meter

a prisoner of rhyme

My spirit indicted

a felon of time

A minstrel’s disciple

epistle in hand

The sound and the rhythm

my soul’s contraband

New couplets my jailer

their sentences cursed

The key to their freedom

locked deep in the verse

And serving in silence

chalk marks on the wall

I listen intently

for one voice to call

Awaiting its pardon

this exile to end

My words liberated

— to forever ascend

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)