Old Prisoner Poem by Alexander Foald

My dreams in the twelfth night
Keeping me away from being conscious
I feel heavy and my body has grown tire
And time’s always bugging me from outside

I can’t sleep, I can’t wake
I try to go deeper, but it’s just one of these ends
Will I ever see the sun again? Will I ever need the light again?
Inquiries from depth below subconscious of wonder

The wide blue sky above my head
The smell from field of flowers before my eyes
The silent chair under an old tree beside the house
The freedom with no fences against forethought of a man

This is the thirteenth times I gripe of myself
Keeping me stay in this obsolete thinking
I grab a branch sticking down to my water
Trying to escape my infinity confinement