Poetry From Prison: In a Moment by Michael Fisher
Stand Still. Each day we must strive
to combat the currents we dive
beneath, breathing through entropy
in which our souls atrophy.
Tides of compromise, competing
desires through all ills repeating,
please born of the iron bounds
of loving debts as hounds
harrying us all form the cloud.
It clings and pulls, a viewless shroud
in power like gravity
culling me, my soul a cavity
empty of hope and vigor –
by forces I’m set into rigor.
Stand still. Amid the chaos
my isle of peace sloughs the dross;
entropy and gravity fail
as powers fit to assail
my soul. The clamor of voices
pleading, demanding, choices
endless, confusing … subside.
No more the forces collide
as inchoate calamity;
they live with equanimity,
seamless in series with calls
for my aid, courteous as thralls.
Stand still? To aid them I strive.
As calm in the eye, I’ll survive.