Shelter-In-Place Syndrome

Monday, December 6, 2021

I am keeping a prisoner

This breath I took two weeks ago

I refuse to let it leave

It paces back and forth within me

And I can feel its dreadful march

It bangs against my chest and I 

Feel the palpitations of its knocking

Sometimes it shouts to the sky

And the electricity in my head

Runs faster, as if it too desires

Flight from this great terror

But as the weeks go past, 

The breath grows content to stay

It no longer bangs on the door

Of my mouth, nor the windows

Hanging over it

Instead it remains still

Mulling over some mystery it 

Does not reveal to its captor

And I begin to grow tense

Aware that what I have done is sin

And that now I hang here in suspense

Wondering when it will let me go