Three

Three..
sit on the highest floor
in the highest tower..
two thistles and a flower..
three..
on stairs where people flee
fires, and aspire
to touch tree tops, roof tops
and clouds that extinguish
yet another sun
that sets on their captivity..

three..
souls bound to silence,
their love, their hate and their violence,
unspoken is stored..and ignored.
Imprisoned in deceit,
their eyes never meet,
and when they do,
one retreats and hides,
as two cracks a joke
and three takes a smoke
and sings a song that goes along
with that thought that was caused
by the landing of a bird haphazardly on some tree..

three..
letters that none have read..
books whose pages are only covers,
friends..foes..lovers

three..
wells of uncried tears
and silent music that never left a throat
or reached an ear,
a mystery

three..
prisoners of freedom;
freedom from fear
of what freedom may bring