The Exiled

A tattered veil is all that keeps/The exile of the heart.  

Why not tear that thin curtain/And rush to freedom?/Yet the jailer and the jailed are kin, of one blood./ This jailer, Judgement by name, /Is he that you know best./He is like a brother now./  Once he asked always to come along,/As brothers do./And you indulged him./Later his shirts hung on your/Side of the closet.  You did not object./And now he is always with you/Pouring poisons into your waiting uncertainty./His suspicious face in the mirror/You believe to be your own,/No longer can you tell/Your hand from the forger's!/

But there is time yet.../He is most obvious in the mornings, /And the cock has crowed/But once,/And the sun, bringer of second chances/Crests the ridge as you waiver/On the edge of that tin dream/You pray will/Once and for all/save you.

(May 2010, Berkeley, CA)


(510) 704-1351     jamesryderyoga@gmail.com