I feel trapped like Osiris in a tree
trunk, yet still alive, bark-scaled skin wrapping
my frame, my legs rooted underworld, free
only to descend in search of deep springs,
my arms paralyzed in prayer toward heaven,
my head a nodule of lost thoughts, mute screams.
Condemned to this prison by my seven
deadly sins, did my will or fearful dreams
of some greater menace force me here? When
did waking and sleep become one? What course
for my release but renaissance within,
blessed by higher power I fled, divorced
my psyche from in futile defiance?
Oh, spirit, love, unleash me. Let me dance.
Roger Armbrust
March 2, 2013
