The mime I watched the mime, with his sad-eyed painted face, Do his routine, the imaginary box-trap Feeling all around, above, and to the sides For a way out of his pretend prison, He groped silently for release No one can see the box imprisoning me But I know that it is there, More real than any wall of masonry, Or iron cage, with bars contrived by man With sadness in my heart, I press outward to break free Struggling silently to escape this stifling cell I grope above, below, and all around And wrestle with the lock that holds me in Trying vainly to undo these prison walls So strong and secure, the fortress of stone Enclosing, entombing my soul November 10, 1999 Poetry