what walls are built out of

it's a comfortable numbness, the results
of having died to the world, of late
the soul is trapped,
capped, almost
divinely superfluous:

it is so right
being so protected, so sublimely
made
as to be one,
no one can hurt you
behind the
iron curtain:

you try to be good, to strike
at the roots, to know
yourself
only to find hate, contempt
your conscience
begins to laugh,
you are an animal, it states

of late, the angst speaks in
eloquent phrases,
marks you with the lineaments
of fate,
go on, you say
surely a ray
will follow you.