My stanzas are not my servants

We could not discern clamp in apparent freedom:

Defending point view, as a fortress at shelf,

I think, that I’m master of versify kingdom,

But songs want to govern my thinking they selves.

This feeling looks like as a satiate hunger:

In time, when I’ll drop in the silencing night,

My poetic lines, as a serfs, ll’ not be angry,

When rioter-death will brake senior’s pride…