I feel trapped, trapped in these prison bars,
Making, creating scars within,
I have done something wrong, I committed a sin.
~

It feels wrong,
To be stuck in here for so long,
I feel weak but yet so strong.
~

I need to break out of this holding cell,
This is it, I'm in hell,
These prison bars are too strong to tell.

Quarantined is what I am,
Sitting here, waiting, urging on the dam,
This is a mistake, a futile scam,
Quarantined is what I am.
~

Quarantined, this is me,
Standing here for all to see,
I wish I could hide and run and flee,
Quarantined, this is me.
~

Quarantined, I am still here,
Exausted, quiet, but still not clear,
I have not yet shed a tear,
Quarantined, I am still here.
~

Quarantined, get me out!
I will scream and kick and shout!
I feel as though I will have a black-out,
Quarantined, get me out!
~

Quarantined, I am no more,
They type in the code and unlock the door,
I feel healthy to the core,
Sitting there for weeks of four,
Quarantined, I am no more.*
~

Quarantined, my Love is now,
I want back in, let me in somehow!
I want him out, I want him now!
Quarantined, my Love is now.
~

Quarantined, with hands upon glass.
I cannot win, I cannot surpass,
Your eyes stare at me, green as the greenest grass,
Quarantined, with hands upon glass.
~

Quarantined, he is to me,
They drag me away from his lifeless body,
I do not look,
This is too much to see,
*Quarantined, he is to me.

I draw my arm back,*
And breathe in, out,in,out,
Feeling as though I don't have a doubt.
~
You are behind me,
Pulling my arm along with yours,
I breathe again slowly.... In. Out. In. Out.
~
I turn my head around and look into your beautiful eyes,
Beautiful, beauty like the skies,
I love the color, the color of those eyes.
~
We both breathe the same breath,
The same rythym beating inside our chests,
In. Out. In. Out.
~
Your hands on my waist,
Clenching tightly, but gently,
The Winds blow through the trees.
~
I release the arrow that my bow holds,
It hits the target dead in the center,
To my heart you enter.
~
I smile at my accomplishment,
At our happy, steady, temperament,
I feel like a bird, tired and bent.
~
You turn me around, spin me in your arms,
Kiss me gently on the lips,
Whisper a poem in my ear,
~
We breathe, we kiss, we touch, we love,
It feels as though a dozen Angels are watching from above,
We soar, we fly, like white, silvery doves,
In. Out. In. Out.

The Archivist are not people you could easily see,
  They glide through the Grass like snakes, slowly and stealthily,
They trade with others secretly.

When the Sun goes crooked,
And all is still,
The Archivists come out and cross the Hill.

The Archivist walks past me and slips a piece of paper in my hand,
I slowly wait, then open the piece of contraband.
It is too high a  price to pay for Thy own loss.

I hold it against my chest and breathe in the smell,
The scent of the sand and the rocks, I breathe,
It came from the Hill and my Lover's own hand.

The Sun goes straight and Night turns into Day,
I look at the Paper again and smile at the words before me,
These are the Archivists who's trading comes with a fee.

The journey I must travel is one I must go alone,
Though the trek is wearisome and takes almost a lifetime to accoplish,
I know I am prone to go on this journey alone.*

The Wind blows North, but I go South,
I fear for those of the Unencumbered,
Who sit around with all their days numbered.

My time may be short, but I will surely make it last,
I do not know what to do, I am as fragile as glass.
The sky laughs at me while the Winds comfort me.

To this journey I am prone,
*On this journey, I must go alone.

Do not go gentle into that good night,*
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words have forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
*Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I remember that day, sitting upon the grass, under the Willow Tree,
We talked, we sang, we laughed, we cried,
We kissed, we touched, we felt.

I felt that I would just cry out then melt,
I wish I could go back to that day under the Willow Tree.
We loved, we learned that we could not do without.
I felt as if I was in Heaven, under that Willow Tree.

I remember that day,
Just you, and me, under the sky, right next to me,
It seems that it wasn't long ago, under that Willow Tree.