In the prison of my mind,
I analyse and agonise,
and reflect confusion.
In the prism of my mind,
I reflect the lines of light
and gain illumination.
Which shape my mind takes
depends on who’s breathing me.
If it’s my ego holding my breath to ransom,
then I’m in prison with its bars my tight ribs.
If it’s my clear observer, my breath’s full and deep
and my mind is a prism sparkling clean.