FALSE FREEDOM’S CHIME

  

The convict pines away within his cell

For scenes that lie beyond its iron bars.

The highway by his prison stretches far,

Into a land of plenty where men dwell

Whose Liberty hangs cracked like some great bell

Before which jaded tourists shuffle by

With longing gaze, like his, from deep inside

Their independence, pent within themselves.

 

How long before his jailor must he kneel?

Though pardon or parole may yet be gained,

No Bill of Rights can halt the fateful wheel

Of Justice that evolves in each man’s brain

The kind of prison that best suits his crime—

Wherein he thrills to hear false freedom’s chime!