You Self-Interned Prisoner

Stand up, get out; this sitting is strife!

You’re a shade of the you you could be!

It’s a shame, it’s a crime, it’s 60-to-life—

And by then you’re a stranger to free.

 

You’re sitting and waiting, and hoping there’s more

Than this desk you’ve been tied to for ages.

There’s truth in the hills and becoming in store!

The you inside you softly rages.

 

Those in similar straights say it’s not the worst post,

And good behavior might shave off some time.

But the sentence is long and what irks you the most

Is your punishment’s also your crime.

 

They chafe and they grate: these smooth iron bands;

Too long you’ve been chained by the wrists.

Yet these cuffs that you wear? The key’s in your hand—

It would take but the simpl’st of twists…