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Barnaby Harrison Mar 2016
Frail I am in this windswept and wave battered shack;
Forsooth this be thy home next to the pebbled track
Which runs alongside the barren lands of this bay.
Time sweeps past like the wind whispering with dismay,
Telling of the malignant humans, all but possessed,
I used to walk with those humans, all well dressed
And now set in the stones that line their graves.
I wish, oh I wish thy could have helped and saved
The fragile bodies that now lie skeletal along the sands
That used to ring with cries of joy like the musical bands
Playing so nearby in the bandstands of our city.
More a village twas but still such a song filled and pretty;
The same village now plagued with the deathly sights
Of darkened, dismal days and dank, musty nights
Truth be told I want to return to that heavenly place
But tis this shack that is my pen, my metal cell
Lying next to what is left of the place that fell.
Kale Feb 2016
It is happening again
The confinement
Due to my insecurities.
The depression caused
by my traumatized mind.
I need to escape
This dark fate
Where I ultimately
Come to my
End.
Kenshō Jun 2015
738 days in and it feels like prison;
To cast my will away would be to sign up for life.
Chains strewn throughout,
Held down, but nothing to grasp.
Grasping is the temptation of the Devil;
Twiddling idle minds, like thumbs.
-
WJ Niemand Apr 2015
There are those who
despise tight spaces
who hate confinement
at least in their own basement

There's some truth
I concur
I need room
not some gloomy tomb

still there are some
who are confined
by the dust below
and the clouds above

they desire
the width of the equator
and claim
the height to the stars

but in the end
with all man as a subject
with majestic skyscrapers
and treasuries filled to the brim

their death creates borders
implodes skyscrapers
and loots the coffers

alas, as they started
in incubators
they remain claustrophobic
in coffins

the world is not enough
because we are not enough
K Balachandran Apr 2015
There is a heavily barred chamber between,
the bitter end of reality and the dream gone dark,
she was locked up there with a window open
to the nightmare created with marvelous illusions.
with a start, she saw little angels with clipped wings
looking out through the gaps of barbed wires
of a window, more of a hole on the wall, on the top floor.

They looked too young, trapped, blooming buds,
and they started to wave wildly at her, perhaps
thinking she could somehow help, take them out,
she felt dazed, as if a poison arrow hit her chest,
everything was dipping in dark, didn't look good at all,
felt like crying, she remembered, tears dried up, long before

from a safe distence seeing all this he felt crying out loud,
but didn't forget, he is only a butterfly, with fragile wings.
a girl with painted lips, he noticed was blowing a kiss
to a man in the balcony, perhaps.he didn't clearly see
his face, but why such affection, they didn't look like lovers!

The setting sun, he thought was fiercely crying,
with, heat , light and deepening shadows, that dance,
her eyes, indolent, fixed on a flower bed, a girl was
talking to her lover boy"Äll good things in life dwindle"
as if suggesting it's all over once and for all between them,
close by sitting on  a tired flower, preparing to close,
the butterfly saw the swarms of bees of night, approaching.
Katlyn Orthman Jan 2015
The sun blazed down angrily that afternoon,
Sweat tracing a path down the backs of the hunched inmates
A moment of rest that felt so sweet but was over too soon
"Back to work!" spit spewing from between the guards thin lips

It had been 17 days since inmate 33421 had seen her face
The beauty with the dark strands of silk spilling down her back
And cerulean eyes that held such innocence
An innocence that had no business settling it's gaze on this brutish hell

But 17 days was an eternity here
And no doubt that pure soul was gone
No doubt the blood that seeped from overworked hands,
and the hunger that stained those empty mouths
and dressed their bodies in bones and sheets of flesh
and the anger and desperation that drove a person to the barest instincts,
had robbed that beauty of her innocence.

No, innocence would never last in a place like this.
Angels were not meant to live among demons
And that was what they had all become.

They who shut their bulging eyes in exhaustion
Slip away into a restless sleep
Fall asleep to the hopes of never opening their eyes again
Only to awaken in the morning to the soul clenching gut pains
and the agony that settled itself deep in their bones making a permanent home.

Others fell asleep hollow
And awoke the same way
Hollow with no dreams, or thoughts,
Only the mechanical need to do.

To keep on living
Although inside they're truly deceased
But the human brain is wired to live
To survive

Ah, no there was no way the beautiful soul 33421 had seen
Could still look upon the light of day and smile at the sun
Not when the sun cursed them as strongly as the men that stalked
back and forth behind the gates hated them.
Not while they all became the monsters
They were accused of being.
JP Goss Sep 2014
I’ve been told it’s punishment, but from the divine?
Loosed from the bonds, all earthly ties
And what for, say, can’t I.
Lest I am the sinner, the adversary
No chains of such gall should bind me here
This concrete box where I count my breaths
Forward and back, on fingers and toes
The end of days on etches in the air.

As though it for pleasure, I-sadist returns
Congress of years from within burn
With nothing but that, no soul to confide
I will make up eyes to look—they judge!
Fictionalize mouths that speak—derision!
Bitter and arbitrary partners of mine,
And no tease of release, slamming
Through will, blood, ****, and ****
Only affixed a skin dressed in iron
I am weakly, free of that—least
Then something holds me close
My existence won’t fold in the unjust crease.

Six steps forward, six back, another six
To complete the burlesque of time’s progress
A harlequin, I am, flogging my back
Akin is the hope of some outer earth.
If nothing but pulp is beyond solip
Then fill my placid-skin with it
And disrupt my absorbing wavelength
I fear I am fiction as the words in my ear.
Glass frame of my skin, new days begin!

Even if I could share with these thoughts
Even if day would lithely walk in
Even if the force of death would invite me in
I would tumble, broken, blind by the box
Still within me
Leave n’er I, n’er I, it to me.
Am I ill, bleeding at the wishing well
No token, but holes, to bribe or to fill.

If I could just do as a man I knew of
From a source, I would doubt, skulking above
Who drilled, for escape, a hole in his head
Out from it poured, his greatest wish
In the language of the box—
I draw prophecy from the moan in the pipes
And these hands brought together in faithful decay
Trace licentious dawn and eve—a broken little slit
I know, I know of a sky—I hoped for it!
I’m strong in that face of patient nothing,
And I will win this fight!
Et cetera Jun 2014
A solitary tear
trickled down
her waiting cheeks.

A solitary sigh
escaped from within
her restrained lungs.

She fantasized.

A solitary thought
circled tirelessly
her fading peace.

A solitary prayer
escaped from within
her restless heart.

She endured.

A solitary wish
disturbed greatly
her beauty sleep.

A solitary memory
escaped from within
her buried past.

She stayed awake.

~ Moniba.
Marly Apr 2014
We are like fish in a tank.
We don't know that we're trapped until someone sets us free.
Tanks have boundaries.
IM IN SCHOOL BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE MY CLASS IS SO IM JUST IN THE HALL THIS IS BAD

— The End —