criminal

January 14, 2009
By Anonymous

And what of all the whimsical baubles that life foretold?
You promised the lot of escapades and in the essence of gold

And what shall I think of this barren womb,
Danced by those men who presume?

The key is not one of truth
Nor sympathy of youth

All that we desire is to embrace the polished stars
Yet our greedy arms are blinded by their scars

You promised the lot of escapades and in the essence of gold
I see nothing left of escapades but eternal hate and scold


The author's comments:
I wrote this piece from the view of a prisoner. People are always being told, it's not the end of the world. Maybe the world isn't crashing and burning, but every time part of it is taken from you. The character in my poem reaches for the stars, something so simple is that. This gesture really shows the reader how desperate the prisoner wants back their freedom but are constantly reminded of their mistakes when they are blinded by their scars.

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