Desire

All those thrown in prison,
Unpublished poets all,
Alienated in this prism
Of wasted words and gall.
You've met those restless souls,
Enclosed by hueless barbs,
Digging holes and filling holes,
Drawing for the card.
You too have waited like them,
Grown bitter and hard,
Clung to the rim,
Counted the stars... 

You should be poised in a rapture
Like a child held by its mother
And holding the aperture
Eternally aflutter.
You fell from a puncture,
Touched your lips to the grail,
But clambered back to suture
The ambrosial veil.