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Degrees Of Gray In Philipsburg You might come here Sunday on a whim. Say your life broke down. The last good kiss you had was years ago. You walk these streets laid out by the insane,....... The only prisoner is always in, not knowing what he's done..... Richard Hugo, 1967 with many, many apologies to Richard The Last Prisoner For years gray man Huddled in the old cell In his burning brain He plots his escape So quiet and careful he has been In his scheming. Even in the dark nights His plan moves forward The latch is weakening Under careful pressure the hinges For the door itself, begin to fail He imagines the excitement of being released Of friends who might shout his name, Buy him a drink Of his lover, older now, with her knowing smile Telling him she knew no jail could hold him Of the light, the sun, the trees in the rain He grinds his remaining teeth Brushes thinning hair Chuckling to himself, thinks of old songs He has lost any sense of time, can't remember Winter or Spring For him there has been the locked door The endless filing, rubbing, wearing down Pushing, cursing the barrier that has blighted his life It happens when is he is drowsing Half awake, wrapped in rags That pass for bedding A strange sound, like a tree falling Or a sudden heavy blow And the gate, the door, The anchor that has blighted his life Is gone! He staggers in the light Blinded nearly And sees the vague shadows The empty streets, shops boarded up An echoing silence, old papers blown Leaning against the wall He considers Should he return to the cell? Gibbens
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Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 11:25 PM UTC
The Last Prisoner
Degrees Of Gray In Philipsburg You might come here Sunday on a whim. Say your life broke down. The last good kiss you had was years ago. You walk these streets laid out by the insane,....... The only prisoner is always in, not knowing what he's done..... Richard Hugo, 1967 with many, many apologies to Richard The Last Prisoner For years gray man Huddled in the old cell In his burning brain He plots his escape So quiet and careful he has been In his scheming. Even in the dark nights His plan moves forward The latch is weakening Under careful pressure the hinges For the door itself, begin to fail He imagines the excitement of being released Of friends who might shout his name, Buy him a drink Of his lover, older now, with her knowing smile Telling him she knew no jail could hold him Of the light, the sun, the trees in the rain He grinds his remaining teeth Brushes thinning hair Chuckling to himself, thinks of old songs He has lost any sense of time, can't remember Winter or Spring For him there has been the locked door The endless filing, rubbing, wearing down Pushing, cursing the barrier that has blighted his life It happens when is he is drowsing Half awake, wrapped in rags That pass for bedding A strange sound, like a tree falling Or a sudden heavy blow And the gate, the door, The anchor that has blighted his life Is gone! He staggers in the light Blinded nearly And sees the vague shadows The empty streets, shops boarded up An echoing silence, old papers blown Leaning against the wall He considers Should he return to the cell? Gibbens
gary-gibbens
Written by
gary-gibbens
Canadian
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 11:25 PM UTC
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