The rusted bars they stand on guard,
Such unforgiving sentry.
From dawn to dusk their vigil fast,
Debarring all life entry.

A cloud of dust my blanket true;
An animal for show.
Apathetic eyes intrude,
They magnify my soul.

The ghosts of tenants’ future, past;
My only source of life.
How long can this exile last?
Through silence they reply.

My mind escapes this “gilded” cage;
My casing, discarded foil.
Sunlight trails my paling face,
My ghost feet tread the soil.

My mind an undulating canvas,
Afire yet still frozen;
A burning flame held high as pride,
A bottle tossed in the ocean.

A moving crowd, always pushing;
In the wrong direction.
No place indeed for flying souls,
A land ruled by discretion.

My minds’ sojourn to heaven perhaps,
Is rudely interrupted.
Reality bawling at my bars,
My cell has somehow flooded.

The rusted bars they stand on guard,
Such unforgiving sentry.
From dawn to dusk their vigil fast,
Debarring all life entry.

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2 thoughts on “The life of a convict.

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