When circumstance is a cage: A poem 

In the library, I am quieted as a page flips 

But a nagging thought the silence whips 

As the books fall together, I try to recall 

 when freedom was a lucid frieze on the wall 

I pick each book from the floor, and apologise 

A word is only a spare for a moment, and dies 

The work of a calling has many failures and tries 

A foray with bookshelves is like a break of sighs 

I wind my way down the unbroken aisles 

Seeking wisdom in the many assorted piles 

Stop at the thought that though print is king-size 

Experience is where the falcon of learning flies 

I breathe the air, and rue the utter lack of it 

Maybe I should treat this with a little wit 

Animals lose their imagination in a cage 

They have no option but to conceal their rage