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.