Charles Newman
SOFT SELL ASYLUM

near the rusty metal gate
insiders cringe
at the very thought of
receiving this gift
no others could grasp
in solitary silence

some step back
recoil
as if burned
even though they crave
this moment
even though they
know it is theirs alone

in the quiet of their hearts
like priests in prayer
trusting in heavenly calm
some reach out fearfully
overrun overcome overjoyed
lunatic fantasies come to life

each controlling his
fear or his
temptation or his
personal horror

each accepting her
karma or her
loyalty or her
devastating history

each caving in
to guilt
yearning for release

we watch the gate
shut slowly
grinding to a halt
making escape a dream