Behind this barrier of wire,
Inside my windowpane,
I sit aloof,
Beneath this roof,
Losing what I gain.

My lungs suspire on their own,
My will, a distant thing,
As I gaze out,
Upon a world,
I want so desperately.

The wind blows freely,
Through the leaves,
A force, pure animus,
Driving branches,
In their dance,
A waltz within the gust.

I cry out I'd like to join,
But all they do is sneer,
My voice dwarfed out,
By wind, no doubt,
As dry eyes start to tear.

My body aches,
As pain awakes,
Within my bosom, He
Ravages my only hope,
Of dancing solemnly.

The leaves take part,
In bashing in,
My longing and my dream,
Turning their backs,
As I relax,
For end is drawing near.

I scribble down the scene before me,
Pen and word in hand,
Inside my book of feuilletons,
Of seemingly distant lands.

I sign my name,
In ring and wax,
A boiling cachet,
Along the bottom of the page,
My name, my say, is set.