Once vibrant, funny, full of life now relegated to a fleshy prison.
Solitary confined thoughts creep ever deeper into my cell.
Family become visitors, guards, and warden of an unseen pen.
No miracle parole. No penance. No escape save for the dark tunnel.
The oppressiveness of this place weighs heavier on my soul than any eternal damn nation.
To tunnel out of this place, to abscond leads to freedom for the guilty.
Freedom is bought with the pain of those guilty of no more than love.
Peering into the cold blue darkness watching it flood.
Feeling the cold pressing upon my head knowing freedom is near.
Trembling hands excited by freedom turn to convulsions of grief.
Remaining unfairly confined is an act of nobility that is never recognized but tolerated until nature unlocks the mystery of this cell.
One thought on “Waiting for Death”
Great poem. Write more of them.
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