The Jailor’s Loneliness

By Lynn Ockersz

Rest comes slowly in snatches,

For our Jailor of master class,

All alone with his designs,

Keeping heavy-lidded eyes on cells,

Filled with spirits calling for a way out,

Of travails mounting by the day,

Refusing to be weighed down by chains,

Thrust on them by iron fists,

But our Jailor oozes high confidence,

And dares not show lassitude,

Since he has his work cut out,

Which is to carve out an Orwellian Isle,

Where a Big Brother syndrome would thrive.

e.