The Cages

The Cages

 

The first of the cages was meant to protect; they built it

around a great and sacred beast, to keep it from wolves,

but the beast got bored inside it. At first it merely paced,

wearing a rectangular groove in the ground. Later, it rung

its horns against the bars, set up an incessant lowing,

showed its baser nature – so they killed it and ate it.

 

The second cage was meant to restrain; they forged it

for a wild and accursed beast, to keep it from maiming,

but the beast grew meek inside it. At first it merely mewed,

rolling on its side and trembling. Later, it yowled out

repentance, clawed the outside air, lapped invisible milk,

showed its servile nature – so they released and tamed it.

 

The third cage was built within a cage; they made it

for a wayward mind, to stop it loving or thinking.

The mind chafed inside it. At first it merely plotted,

then gave in to ungovernable rage. The iron melted.

Its keepers shrank away, so it came forward – found

itself within a cage within a cage within a cage.

 

Poem by Giles Watson, 2012.

 

Done