passacaglia (opus 65). A poem by Susan Carroll-Clark

I understand the desire for it not to be
The compulsion to will facts into fiction
My being screams for it to be so from the first moment of wakefulness
Perhaps it will be different today
And then I rise, and it is not.
These walls still define me as they confine me
Even as thoughts soar beyond
Even as the sky turns above
Even as the earth warms below me
But to acknowledge life is to know death
To know the chill awaits
The length of days unknown
And so I see it in faces, that denial
The affirmation of freedom
Of agency, still theirs, in protest
The dice rolled, the chance taken
It shall be as it was
They will it so.
The world is unchanged. They are not wrong
But they know not the world.

And so, I lift my silent voice
I sing of the transitory miracle
I count each moment dear, those passed and passing
I bargain with the eternal, though I know not the game
I can only guess
In voluntary bondage; shall I emerge?
I know not, but the prison has no walls
Beyond those of truth, unseen but felt.

I have lived, and live, and will live, until the future is past
And that still lies ahead, countless days
And hours and seconds and days
Passing again and again until the rhythm is broken
The chord resolved, the blood shed.


I am a project manager in the financial services industry. I also have a doctorate in history with a few historical research article credits in both academic and hobby publications. I have been writing a blog for a couple of years now, which has transformed into a daily journal I call “Siege Diaries.” This poem was the entry for 4/16/2020 You can find it here.

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