Barrel Down, Beaming Clown

Free.

Free
At last.

But freedom's not.

Freedom
Has a price:

A headache
And a frown;
A jester
And a clown;
And my eyes
Looking down
This barrel
Of renown.

They laugh,
They scoff;
I try,
I deny.

But the longer
I fret,
The stronger
They get.

Mockers:
Will they kill me?
Monsters:
Will they let me be?

Lord, I wish
It was ever that easy.

Awakening

Silence, o silence,
O midnight’s mutant son!

Bane of the small, cane of the tall,
O silence, your time has overrun!

Blankets woven, spread
like cheese, slippery
to touch and rebellion;
Blinkers spun, shielding eyes,
killing awareness—
primly done!

But silence, o silence,
O midnight’s muted orphan!

My face to the wall, I voice my call,
O silence, your spell is now undone!