The Warden

THE WARDEN

 

Beautiful things forsaken

Dwell in a pit inside of me

They haven’t been fooled

Prison is not sanctuary

 

Shackled by iron to the floor

My long-term memories

Are beginning to appeal

From the hell of solitary

 

Behind stone walls and towers

They petition ‘falsely accused’

They’re clamoring, crucifying

Refuse to sink into their tombs

 

Once quiet tragedies undying

No more lock and key

Your verdict is overruled

Before my insanity’s increased.

 

 

All Rights Reserved © August 2016 John J Vinacci

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