The walls are hostile and the faces cold,
Where hidden malice watches every stride;
Within this bitter grip I am controlled,
By sharp intentions that they cannot hide.
No voice can break the silence of this room;
I send a secret text to you, a hurried sign,
To pierce the sudden gravity of gloom,
A sparse, snatched moment on a hidden line.
The thought of you is all the peace I keep,
A steady baseline where the frictions clear;
Your memory guards the hours before I sleep,
And brings the ever-distant sanctuary near.
This bitter exile will not long endure;
I will break free, of that my heart is sure.