The Warden

He waits silently, patiently. Calmly stalking with his chains

He picks his moments, striking deliberately and delicately.

Each chain and each lock has a name; a prisoner

But the keys are seldom and nameless

He never claims more than one at a time, moving so quietly you never notice what’s taken

The shadows cling to him like a cloak, and he drapes it upon wherever he goes

Till the darkness has crept so gradually you get blinded by candlelight

The shackles not reserved for you; one by one your loves put in cells

Yet you are allowed to walk free, to see what has been taken from you

See the arts

The passions

The hopes

The aspirations

The laughs

The smiles

The voice

Not left with even a whisper to beg for help; for aid; for succor

The warden allows a key to slip from his grasp

Time to time

Not for carelessness

Or ignorance

But to spark the light of hope again

So it has something to chain away