The Prisoner (part 2)

In such a state could he forget his cell
And draw upon the beauty that was there.
Escape from all the tortured brutish hell
and brought to look beyond his own despair.

For in those chambers, full of filthy air,
was filled with screams of those who had to wait
for Death. In sleep they saw him on a mare,
as black as night, and coming with their fate.

In sleep respite is found for those who take
their refuge in a conscience made thus clear
by claims of their own innocence or faith
that fends them off from loneliness and fear.

Besides incessant screams that pierced his ears,
in solitude he spent his days and nights.
The piece of moldy bread through slits appeared,
slid through by silent wardens full of spite

unsympathetic to his cries or plight,
or claims of those who pleaded innocence.
For wardens have forgotten all polite
or charitable parts; their jobs were hinged

upon ignoring all their moral sense,
and acting harshly when they were provoked,
reminding each their horrible offense,
which justified their treatment and its scope.

In neighboring cell, the prisoner heard the mope
of mind who’s gone beyond all remedy
His other neighbor with him hardly spoke;
a foreigner from far away was he.

The prisoner

The streak of light that stream into the cell
Announces to whoever may be there
That morning has arrived and vanished hell
that time has come to turn to worldly cares.

The light is shone upon a wooden chair
And later on a man who lies awake
Upon a bed; he stirs when in the air
He hears the sound that soothes his heart that aches.

He rouses from his coiled mortal state
And listens for the voice that he holds dear.
His countenance lit up, and whence he takes
The chair with eagerness and draws it near

the tiny window so that he could hear
familiar songs that stream in with the light
That seem to take away the pains and clear
His clouded mind and give him much delight.

He held the bars and held on to it tight
To pull himself above to catch a glimpse.
Unready to behold the light so bright
He winced his eyes with tears to have them rinsed.

At last he saw the bird that ever since
It sang its songs had filled his heart with hope
That he may yet again be freed and cleansed
From all the sin and shame that always poked

and pricked his guilty conscience in revolt
Of failed accounting, reasoning and pleas.
The song could take his mind with force impose
Its peace upon him with its melodies.