Grant Me My Freedom


Grant me my freedom here that I may wander

under this cloud of twisted green and brown

and coarse lattice sieving out brilliant light

among humanity distilled in a wooden cask

holding the yellow aroma of fire and heat

and charcoal black greed, burning feverishly

with pure power in a crucible marked peace

where corruption shovels in its currency.

Bleed me, feed me and purge my hunger

for happiness while I hang on my rood

under the blazing, unblinking eye through this

swaying canopy, this winking cloak of lethargy.

Help me find solace in the rain of white light,

ease me into redemption and cure me of need,

of the succour of a lover who sees not my equality

but heeds my slavery to her will; who cannot

respect my faults under her judgement. Deliver me

from that cursed heaven, this blighted haven,

the pasture of poison ivy where I lay my weary head.

Give me the keys to the caged door keeping me

bound to her bedpost so that I may walk free

and be one with myself amid these deciduous eaves:

at once the barren skeletal claws of bitter winter;

and the glowing richness of life in beautiful spring;

home to those who sing; shelter to those who burrow;

the walls of my uncommon Hell, the bone carpet

of my darkened dell under twisted green and brown,

my bloodless sacrifice and the thorn of my crown.



Malek Montag

Rochester, June 2017


Picture Credit:


About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on
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