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Caged Respite Life’s refugees used to willingly lock themselves in these endless fields of the golden cages unfolding all around in the menace of their deceptive splendor that the life’s loyal martyrs eagerly fall for, longing for a minute’s respite from the uncanny pain of vulgar day-to-day existence. Anticipating the audacity of a departure, shunning the rip-off of a return, the poor convicts on the death row of the guillotining golden cages are still readily reaching out to them, to the stretching swampy fields of them running far beyond the life’s horizon, so peacefully and joyfully serene in their placating, inviting, vermilion green of the countless time-chariots of pastures affording the ready oblivion the convicts are yearning for.
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