The Hostage Writer

Sometimes, all I have to say is tired of being said.
My poems are pinioned behind my back
And I am in a little space that is constantly, claustrophobically, closing in.

They say, write, write.
Write, while you are young, while there is still so much
So much to write about.
Your life, your strife, your struggle, your strength
That will not keep for much longer, your
Enthusiasm that will soon die, lie
lifeless.

Sometimes, all I have to say,
Is tired of being sad
And out in the rain
Where the ink flows off the wasted words
Like water off a duck's back.

They say write write while
you still can.
And perversely,
I cannot.