The Prophet has sent Jon another poem

Lost in Confinement

As the artificial lights starve me of sleep
I read the etchings of those who’ve suffered before me.
I wonder what stories lay within these simple scratches.
What act deemed as criminal brought them to this cell?
If they as I were brought within inches of madness?
After long these ghostly cellmates become my only comfort
To know that this struggle is far from one I bare alone.
I may not hear their voices or see their bewildered faces
Yet I feel the tremble of their screams of injustice.
For who’s right it is to take my spirit?
Strip it bare,
Naked in every essence of the word.
Violated by a system that pledges to protect and serve.
The eyes of the keepers look through me,
As if I’m so far beneath them I’m not worthy of the simplest consideration.
Torn between my own actions and the reactions of those whom wish to
Correct me.
How is it said? “For he who is without sin”I would laugh if the irony were not so jagged
Stabbing me through the reminisce of my heart.
Even now with freedom I taste this place
Like a film covering my entire body
I smell the concrete slab that which was my cradle
How if ever do these memories fade?
Is it possible to return to a life after having your spirit killed?
For that is my fate and the answer lays with tomorrows waking breath.

Copyright2005 prophet

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2 comments:

Anonymous said...

It is hard to find words of comfort after what you are going through; I try to remember that the light from a candle can be seen a mile away in the dark. Draw comfort from the ones that care for you, and take each day as it comes. You have done well.

Anonymous said...

sheer genius