The Prisoner (part 2)

March 25, 2010

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.

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