There are places
That protect the heart, even the mind
From stark realities of impoverished life.
When the heart broken and the demented
Choose to find a place of idleness and composure
To rest and reclaim the life one used to know.
And sometimes we stay years inside the places
We inevitably call asylums, to outgrow our entrapments
– What holds us back, even imprison us –
And those sanctuaries called asylums
Are where wounded birds come to rest
To regrow wings.