A song of the ward

"Man reached too far ahead of himself,"
she said in the courtyard one day.
We had come down for cigarettes
from that balefully sterile cage.

The only taste of freedom there:
the addict's acrid smoke.
The only truth taught me there:
the maliciousness of hope.

"What to do when all seems lost?"
I asked my trusted friend
who replying said "Talk to God,"
but Faith had reached its end.

"The way to speak escapes me now;
I've forgotten how to pray."
"Just talk," quoth she, my guiding sprite,
and then she turned away.

2005 i think