The stone walls stand, a silent tomb,
Where youthful hopes met endless gloom.
The years slip by, a measured beat,
Of bitter meals and concrete feet.
No whispered dream, no future bright,
Just hollow days and endless night.

The family name, a shattered sound,
On broken ground, by shame profound.
A mother’s tears, a father’s plea,
All drowned in what became of me.
A whispered name, a crooked head,
A family line that’s all but dead.

The meals served cold, a tasteless paste,
A life consumed, a life laid waste.
Each meager portion, bland and gray,
A symbol of the fading day.
The hollow ache within the soul,
An empty plate that makes you whole.

The guards’ cold eyes, the hardened fist,
A lonely life, a world un-kissed.
The shouted words, the bitter scorn,
A new contempt with every morn.
A human soul, a broken thing,
That’s lost the will to even sing.

The day arrives, the cell door swings,
It is a bitter freedom that it brings.
The world moves on, a hurried race,
While you stand still, without a place.
A resume with naught to show,
But hardened hands and winters’ snow.

The honest words, the truth you tell,
Are trapped within a mental cell.
Each plea for work, a wasted breath,
A whispered life that’s near to death.
No one believes, no one can see,
The man you are, the man you’d be.

I will not enter the Gates of time again,
It's as simple as can be, a new amen.
I'll walk in truth, love and grace,
He's, by my side, my savior lives with me.
A future paid, a bitter cost,
A life regained, a story lost. ©


Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE"