I escaped the Prison of Samsara
Unnoticed.
No one noticed me
Slip between the bars
That restricted
My own potential
No one noticed me
Break down the Walls
Of my own fears.
No one could see me
Bust  the chain
Of Addiction.
Everything I did that was constructive
Was unnoticed.
The people around me
Just wondered
When was I gonna' break?

The Hello Poetry Blog provided a wonderful prompt today!
Ironatmosphere Apr 11

My mind is a prison
But why did I have to start a riot?

Let me fly high
Breaking all bondage by
Let them see
All my wisery
Defining the path
Alonging the sea
By passing all the misery !!

Alex Negri Apr 5

My name is little Joey Ochs these are my final words,
I stood before a judge last night and told him all I could.
If I was to have had a Pa, or even just one friend,
Perhaps I wouldn't be put away behind a prison fence.

My Mama was a prostitute she hung around the bars,
I knew when she was working when I smelled the mens cigars.
We found her underneath the stairs, bottle of pills in hand,
In the other she held a not that yelled "Nobody understands."

My Daddy was a Patriot he fought the battle of Guam,
He had a billion different names but I think his first was Tom.
My fathers life was alcohol he drank for every meal,
But then they found pa dead one night, his hands still on the wheel.

So now you see I had it rough, my parents weren't there,
And even the few times that they were I don't think that they cared.
If I had gone to college I might have a career,
I might have even learned to write, and been the next Shakespeare.

I got a gang that taught me well, and made me feel a man,
They helped me through the toughest times, by hatching evil plans.
I stole and drank and smoked a lot, they said I'd go to hell,
To me that sounded accurate, but who can really tell.

I really didn't mean to become mixed up in this mess,
But still, one day the cops came 'round and maybe for the best.
We went to jail for a hit n run, there's nothing else to say,
'cept maybe that I was not the one driving on that day.

The prison was the only place I've ever liked to be,
It was there that I met all my pals, I never tried to flee.
There among the thousand men who were not very kind,
Is where I felt I was at home even if I was confined.

One day an officer came around and slid open my door,
He said the jails are overcrowded, and we need room for more.
So on that day I walked free I was a bit confused,
I did not know 'bout life outside I left without a clue.

So then I was alone out there, the first time in my life,
The only thing that I possessed was clothing and my knife.
I knew I had to go back there, the only life I knew,
I begged and pleaded, "let me back, I haven't payed my dues."

One day I was done with it, I was really in bad shape,
I killed a man, in broad daylight I didn't try to escape.
I went before a jury, so they could send me back,
I had to prove to all of them I was no maniac.

Oh yes I was found Guilty, and I don't disagree,
I knew I had to be put away, that's why I done the deed,
But I didn't think about the way that they might sentence me.
So now I'm getting ready to hang from the gallows tree.

So if anyone can hear me speak I'll only tell ye' this,
There's more to life than breathing air and trying to exist.
Now I'm glad I have no parents that can see me die.
I'm also glad I had no friends so they wont see me cry.

A folk song I wrote last night.
MARK RIORDAN Apr 4

I AM LOCKED IN THE CABOOSE
GET ME OUT OF JAIL
I DON'T LIKE THIS PEN
I AM JUST A MERE MAIL


THE WALLS AT THIS PRISON
REMIND ME OF THE JOINT
DON'T PUT ME IN THE LOCK UP
I CAN'T SEE THE POINT


WHAT IS THIS WATCH HOUSE
I WILL UPGRADE TO THE BIG HOUSE
I AM INNOCENT YOU HERE OR
I WILL SQUEAL  LIKE A MOUSE

A FRIEND ASKED ME TO COMPOSE A POEM ON 8 DIFFERENT NAMES FOR A JAIL. WELL HERE IT GOES
mercy party Mar 27

i quit drinking at 21
early did i have my fun
and my love she was no longer mine
in the last few days of 39.

now i'm in the Tower of London
locked up and wondering
what i did and what i didn't, i'd do it all again.
many questions concerning the circumstances of your disappearance
so i will go
and there's nothing to contradict.

and you will know what a secondary feeling is
when the widow understands the things you did
he was a good man
the blood is on your hands
you could of left but you insisted
not a chance

and you were right you're not going anywhere
you'll be stuck to matching chairs
things were good and you'll wanna think that they weren't
but you'll remember when her toast is burnt

and you will know what a secondary feeling is
when the widow understands the things you did
he was a good man
the blood is on your hands
you could of left but you insisted
not a chance

seems to be this stale giving up type of thing with you
like fire, submersion, someone new

I lie down on my pillow
Watching  my tears
Falling between the cracks
Of my   broken window
There wasn't enough
Room  to console it

Jennifer Weiss Mar 20

I may have never shared with you,
what a wretch I was.
The dependency on drugs,
selling them to my friends,
the unforgivable, explicit activities...
you can guess where I'm going with this.
Then there were the wretched things done to me.
That I did not choose.
And I let them all eat away at my soul.
I let a prison become erected around my heart.
I hired guards.
I took new inmates.
And developed strict programs and policies...
We never allowed visitors at my prison.
I remember laying awake at night crying
more than I remember lovely stories from my childhood.
I remember dreaming happy things would happen that
just
never did.

And then I really met Jesus.
Not in the way I met Him when I was 12 years old.
At 12, He was the promise that I wouldn't burn in Hell.
At 22, He became the man who called me by my very own name and beckoned me into a world full of Light.
And I haven't looked back.
I'm not going to look back, except to tell you how dark it really was.
Because I know what it is to feel death.
I know what it is to stay high every day
because life is unbearable.
I know what it is to believe there is a God,
but not know how to reach Him.
I know what it's like to think you aren't
worth it.

BUT YOU ARE.
You are worth dying for in Jesus' eyes.
Can you picture that?
A man who finally loves everything about you
so much so
that He did everything He could
to set you free.
Now you just have to want it.
You have believe you can be free.
Take a good look at where you are.
Now ask yourself, "Am I truly free?"

If your life is anything like what mine used to be...
you aren't.
My heart is breaking for yours.
I know you are out there.
I know you want freedom.
You have to know,
God wants you to have it
more.

I never thought I would have the life I have now.
It is not perfect, it is so very hard sometimes.
BUT GOD ISN'T
He loves so well and so complete.
And I love you.
DEW Mar 18

White sheets flutter...
they dance around the room
they whip and crack like storm-kissed sails
I cower in fear, my bed is empty save for pillows.

I rest my head
I'm nearly dead
I ache with dread
I crumble, like abandoned bread
and the table we set
is unwoven by time.
Splinters, like loose thread, pile up as do bones.
We are no longer held together by compassion,
we are butchered by sharp tongues and piercing glares,
for shame! We thought it was a funhouse, but we revel in slaughter.

White sheets flutter...
they wave like sleeping flags
they wave like quaking lands
then they settle and I hear the white sheets whisper
and the whispers haunt me
are they soaked by old lovers
tears like oceans raining into the sky
blood like rivers escaping the bed
bowels of deceit coughing up their secrets
let us drink all this vile bile and be drunken by horrors.

Is that the only way we can escape?

Not sure how all the ideas came together or where the inspiration was derived. I just had a thought:
"What if our bed sheets were ghosts? What would they say?"
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