Friday Night Behind Her Bars
Written by Jonathan Henderson
Friday April 4, 2014 @ 8:58 PM
Friday night in the arms of Hope's despair,
And how that angel too distant seems to lie
Afar beneath my lair of content, and how it
Should be the night the darkness consumed
Of our window to tame the beasts to always
Lie beneath the heart, if only my maiden's to
Live nearby alongside by night into each day
As Spring stirs ours, but warmth apart frosts
Into states of utter, sheer, frigid despondency.
I shed a tear commiserating all the times I'm
To ponder whether she feels a blanket of my
Clouded languid life never free unless I lived
Behind her bars, she owning the lock and key
To my heart, and now she is not nearby upon
A Friday night when freedom is reborn once
Every sixth gun's decry, and my source to die
Is the discontent of a dogwood winter ever to
Follow retractions to rheumatic hands' grasp
Till I am to die, if not by breath, then upon my
Last trip as the poet set sails 'cross the stars.
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