Poet, Writer, Media Maker, Facilitator


I live upstairs, above

Half a house of air, I cannot

Breathe; seven windows I can’t

See the rain or sun through.


In my room

There is ample left to keep me

Well amused; if not so slightly

Left despairing that the little things

Confuse, I live upstairs.

Not from any lack of will or servitude

But because, I believe, that in the silence

That surrounds me, and in these four walls

That have bound me,

For so long now.

I am free.


Adrian EarleComment