Freedom of Movement
Clouds caress the cold, clear sky
Ten months have passed, the eleventh nigh
Man manipulates the daylight hours
Colours changing, fading flowers
Little seen through windows barred
Seasons sensed in the prison yard
Their vision might truncated be
But more acute than men called ‘free’
Vapour trails tell travel’s tale
Streaks of white seek holiday grail
Remnants of a foreign flight
Reminders of the prisoners’ plight
Man has fought for freedom found
Free to travel at speed of sound
Free to leave his place of birth
Free to roam around the earth
Wherever he chooses to work or play
Whichever time zone rules his day
Travel is now a human right
Limited just by speed of light
Mighty mowers’ movements sound
Where the gardeners dig the ground
Feet that pound around and round
Confined inside the closed compound
Stationary is a relative state
A kilometre squared may seal the fate
Of men that live behind the fence
The prison yard their recompense
As they return from exercise
Streaks of red light up the skies
Portents of bold and brighter days
Intense these tints between the greys
Travel implies a state of change
Of prisoners’ control, beyond the range
Inertia is on them imposed
Confinement and movement are opposed
Those outside that criticise
Need only look up at the skies
To imagine how it is to be
Almost totally movement free