The Governor Poem by Sean Riley

He stands on his tower of authority
governing over the people
pointing his frail skeletal hand
toward the direction of a steeple.

I move in pointless circles
around my cold prison cell
to try to negotiate with him
a plea to liberate me from hell,

but he stands poised
in his black Roman uniform
trying to strangle me with silence
and make me obediently conform

to his administration of boundaries
that he gradually restricts a little more.