Imprisoned In My Own Back Yard

I’m incarcerated

Behind the stinging bars of social delusion,

Meanwhile mellifluous sounds sit so surreptitiously

Behind battering-ram-like choruses,

Silence is golden.


We hear the noises of eager beavers, morning birds,

Murders of crows with irksome calls,



A cacophony to raise even the deaf from their graves,

There’s never a good time to join the parade.


Seats filled with canvas friends,

Buckled, strapped, chastened by the law’s unwanted wrath, yet

Further back we hug one another like old comrades-

Supportive, not sympathetic,

“If only the tracks were cheaper than the roads”, one says.


Now utterances are thrown,

Carelessly, not caringly,

Constantly, not consistently,

Balls of fiery mesh watered down by an oncoming chuckle,

But still we sit silently,




Silence isn’t golden, it’s gold-plated silver.


8 thoughts on “Imprisoned In My Own Back Yard

      • Listen
        I wouldn´t dream of expressing things I don´t mean.

        What or who inspires you really…?Except you cat, of course…
        No, but really, have you ever read Rimbaud?

      • Well, your words are too kind! 🙂 Hmm, good question… I mean there are a whole host of people who inspire: Orwell; Eliot; Baudelaire; Lennon etc.
        No I haven’t, although I feel I should have seeing as though I wish to study French at uni! 😛

      • It´s not about being “kind” at all. It is value beyond any doubt.

        You don´t need one thing or another. You have everything you need.

        You do whatever feels right for you, in your inner rythm.

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