Interpretations of Purgatory

Am I in utero,

Or is this purgatory?

Should I be comforted

by this sense of complacency,

reverberating through the sea

where my cortex leisurely floats?

Or should I be worried?

That I am becoming contented,

that this is dangerous to my existence

and the wholeness of my soul?

For I am a wild animal...

Aren’t I?

Sure, my teeth resemble no fang,

my nails have not torn lately torn into flesh,

But I need to drink in air that’s fresh,

I need to move,

I need to see,

I long to run,

I long for freedom, yes,

I must be free.

For I am a wild animal.

I hear the words in the primal cry of my mind internal,

And I know,

The truth lies in the latter.

I am suspended in an idle purgatory of my own making

I have tricked myself into a false sense of contentment

Comfort is my only organic enemy.

I must move,

I must see,

I must run,

I must have freedom,

I must be free.

I have been a netted fish,

a caged wolf,

a bear with foot in iron trap.

I am a wild animal;

I will kick and bite and claw,

I will fight relentless until

I am free.

Request permission to use this poem