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Nikolai Dec 2019
Dull is the day.
A new thrill in the night.
A shrill scream in her flight.
Blood is dripping, the ax is lifting
Last of his kind,
a creature of night,
life in perpetual darkness,
neverending, the madness.

The spirits are raising,
pursuers are racing,
with a goal of ending his splendid ambition.

The endless ordeal has come to an end,
his final salvation eluded again.
The blood is no longer dripping,
his hands, no longer ripping the flesh.
Rapture is gone, once again he's alone.
He's come to oblivion, forgotten again,
ignored, but prison can bind him only so long.
Not too sure about the title. Not too sure if the story is in any way coherent or inferable from the text.
Nilia Loh Dec 2019
Came out of rusty bars, with nothing but black stripes on me.
I walk down the street alone, seeing everyone else with no stripes on.
Their stares pierced through my innocence, as if my sins were still fresh for years.
But someone held my head high, gave me a identity, purpose and forgiveness.
He gave me a second chance, even when everyone else can't.
I walk down the street not alone, but with someone who filled me with hope.
I wrote this poem for a theme "prisoners" :D
If I ever get out of this cage,
I'll move so far away,
they'll never see me again.
I dream of a great migration,
now trapped,
forced to suffer flagellation.
These chains that hold me in place
will be the same to shape a noose.
Infinity has never felt so long.
I say my last goodbye with the words,
"So long."
Lil Moon Moon Jul 2019
I have wings and I can fly away,
But hey, that's a petty white lie,
Cuz if it were true, I wont be here today,
Enduring the hurt and the lie...

So here I am stranded,
Held down by chains of dread,
I have wings and I can fly away,
But you might as well call me disabled.

Cuz its a petty white lie,
And God knows I can't get away.
Wordsmith Jul 2018
It stifles more than stimulates,
Imprisons more than liberates,
Inhibits more than invigorates,
So why let it dominate..
Victor Bucarizza Apr 2018
The air tastes different out here
The stream plays the pebbles like a harp
There is no line that separates the mountain from the valley

No law that forbids the Sun from bleeding into the sky
There are no ends to the trunk
nor starts to the branch
There are no fences or walls
No corners or edges
Nothing sharp enough that it could cut my soul

I open my eyes

I'm still at my desk - chained, only by fear
My weekday tie fastened just loose enough so I can't complain I am choking

I am choking!
Scarlet McCall Apr 2018
Good dog Max, always sits and waits
for the dogwalker, who comes every day at  8.
Leather leash around his neck, they go round and round the block,
the same route every day. He’s got no shoes and socks
to protect his padded feet, that were meant for grass and hills,
and there’s no chance to run and fetch a bird his master kills
(though that’s what he was bred for).
And from 9 in the morning, until every night,
it’s the same small apartment, floor of wood and walls of white.
Sometimes they lock him in a cage, so he won’t jump on the bed;
Max sometimes wonders if he’s alive, or dead.
He barks when they come home, and they tell him “shush.”
To hide his shame he gnaws a bone, or gives his bowl a push.
Max, depressed and fat, died before his time.
A prisoner locked in solitary who was guilty of no crime.
Some of these people actually think they are "animal lovers."
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