This Prison

In the dead

of the hot summer night,

the breeze finally comes,

as the heat floats gently away,

like the breath of a slowly

dying man,

his soul crying out to be free

from this prison where it has been held

for so long,

never allowed to become all that it

was meant to be,

praying for survival

within the destruction of these

decaying prison walls;

returning to a home

it has never known;

sleep comes hard

in this lonely land of pain,

as thoughts of words already said

echo through the silence of the mind,

remembering places nearly forgotten

by this clever disguise called life;

the still, small voice softly calls out,

offering a refuge of hope and light

amidst the cold and barren darkness

of this forgotten, forsaken cell.;

I wish I could walk out

of this prison,

discard it like old clothes,

free at last,

no restrictions,

no fear or rage,

only quiet,

simple thought;

this prison which holds me to the earth,

this prison that makes me crave depravity,

this prison in which I was born,

this prison which has grown with me;

but has never let me grow.

.

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