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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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