Has my life become a prison?
Have I forgotten
what it (really) means to be (really) free?
To experience the helpless, trusting child,
who is somewhere deep inside of me;
the quiet place that is so scary alone and
totally dependent on some other,
naturally, automatically, like
the child and the animals and the saints;
unless one was orphaned early,
like the other brother,
never in love or
living too long in the world of the senses
eschato-logically naive and