"jailer" poems
We're in hell
Can't you tell?
No you can't
You only listen to the teller
All other voices are drowned
Because he's a yeller
For the useless things we're bound
That fill up our cellar
And our living room turns into a dying room
When the seller is the jailer
And salvation comes from tailors
Who can cover up the pain inside
With all the comfy clothes we buy
Money is the blood of our society
It's circulation provides oxygen
But we spill money into spilling blood
And we're funneled into killing love
So we can concern ourselves
With people not getting things they don't deserve
Rather than people getting what they need
Our blood starts clotting
In the fortunate arteries
As the rest of our body goes numb
It seeks medicine for healing
And drugs become our autoimmune disease
Redistributing blood to the suffocated areas
An unfortunate recompensing for injustice
When the persecutors
Become the prosecuted
Lives are exploded
Like Afghan villages
Lives can grow back
Like poppy fields
That's the score
And it makes me want to score
Until ****** drips from every pore
And ******* fills me to the core
I could just live at the liquor store
Where benzos are my father
And **** my mother
So I can ignore the death of my brother
My family is in trouble
Our society is in rubble
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 8:14 AM UTC
The purest sense of understanding that allows two hearts to move beyond the borders of the conscious, thinking mind.
Without the thoughts that twist the words, that distort perception; what is conveyed, is... is... unconditional acceptance and love. In this simple concept we find solace, we find connection, we reach the precipice of and stare in awe at the beauty of the humane soul. Everything seems perfect.
By this perfection, given face value, we draw the ever permanent distinction between what what is black and what is white; what is wrong and what is right; what is virtue and what is moral travesty. For inherent to humanity is the eagerness, bias and extremity with which we represent the good and evil of this world. For who would believe that the "caretaker", wrought of good intentions, could be soiled in his actions?
The caretaker that empathizes with the troubled or broken soul is a testament to the honesty of a human heart; but he who enables others with his empathy becomes not the caretaker, but the "jailer". Through his conviction to ALWAYS be there, to sooth the hurts, to understand the pains and to maintain control... by those actions, he belittles them. The relief of empathy is only temporary. Empathy does not enact change, it is mere salve and bandage, it quells the aches for but a moment. And when they return, in their woes, the service of the empathizer becomes requirement.
For though empathy may be needed, with the power to forge a bond of deep understanding, its indiscriminate use only stunts. Personal growth, it is found by many paths in this world. We must grow and mature; let others do the same. Life is a journey with many opportunities but also many hardships, we are defined by these. If we are stunted by the empathy of others, in their quest to protect us, we will never grow, never achieve that which is greater, and never leave our "prison".
Virtue or vice... once again in the hands of the beholder.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 2:04 PM UTC
Handcuffs line my wrists
The key dangling so sharp
one; just one, I say
but my jailer disagrees
one more, he taunts
you know you want to, he laughs
handcuffs line my wrists; stained red
never to be broken
looking at whats left of my prison
my jailer leaves
and moves on looking for the next criminal
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 7:53 AM UTC
''When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary,
When troubles come and my heart burdened be,
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence
Until You come and sit awhile with me.”
<>
not hidden, for I reside in my accustomed spot,
but my face reveals a dispirited demeanor,
so most leave me alone, but not in peace,
late June, and the world less-than-august
These burdens which are weighty mighty.
are like weights in a trainer's vest,
while they can be removed,
only additions arrive, as screws
tightened to increase the threshold of
consternation and persistent pain insistent
the silenced aura within which I sit most patiently,
becomes both jailer and friend,
while I await your salvation arrival,
amidst tales of others who preceded me in this
waiting game predicament, most unsuccessfully,
admixed with stories of one or two
rewarded...
a tease, a stringy tale of hope, an endurance test,
to make my heart even more burdened be,
though wearied, yet unsuccmbed,
for I have seen you, existence verified,
and my patience knows no limits,
awaiting the cool of fall,
when the breezes bear and bare your scent,
and hints your returning presence,
changes the very meaning of
awhile
Jul 8, 2025
Jul 8, 2025 at 11:45 PM UTC
There, she is there. She moves in the cold September morning
it's hours yet till dawn but she knows neither light nor dark
nor scarcely where she is. A light, a door, stone steps. She walks
straight up them, eyes ahead; her body rigid as she jerks
forward towards the door, the handle, and suddenly the man
behind the desk. He looks up, his breath stops
he sees her tragic bright eyes, he sees the blood, and
how she holds those small white-knuckled hands; he watches
her terrible face. He knows without asking, but he asks.
They are locked already into an unspeakable knowledge,
only yesterday she was here, distraught and pleading,
it was his chance for brilliance — or at least for goodness —
and he missed it. He has become her jailer now, who
could have been her saviour. He wholly understands,
and it is too late. No one else will ever come to him and say
'Help me, take me, please, before I do this thing . . .'
He will be haunted now for ever by his trial, deceptive
as it was, and he found wanting. No one will accuse him
and he can never be forgiven. His uniform rustles slightly
as he rises, his single offer a cup of institution coffee,
potion for the ****** 'Your jacket's all ****** take it off.'
Oh cry for the breaking day, the sleeping pillows shocked
by phone calls, messages, alarms, weep now and every morning
for the Janus faces, back to back, of guilt and innocence.
3.3k
I am behind a wall with no windows and no doors.
I feel trapped and helpless.
But inside this prison I am safe,
from the outside world,
which threatens to destroy me.
There is no one in this prison,
except for the prisoner (me) and the jailer(me)
Life in this prison is not pleasant.
The only company is the jailer,
but she is very cruel.
She taunts me with self criticisms.
Thus the isolation starts as a place of safety
but soon becomes a place of torture.
And the depression begins.
Inside this prison, there is a huge wall,
separating me from the outside world.
I reach out for help.
But the barrier intervenes.
I take a step forward. But there is no where to go.
There are no windows.
There are no doors.
There are people reaching out to me.
I can hear them, but I cannot touch.
Loneliness and fear shuts them out.
My fears of being hurt again
results in me being alone.
I must live my life with this fear of growing old,
unwanted and unloved and being on my own.
I have grown up with this barrier against other people,
stopping me getting to close.
I have this powerful feeling that if I let the barrier down,
I will be swirled away in a turbulent flood of emotions.
I cannot risk letting down my barrier and discovering
what it would be like in an intimate relationship.
It could be a relationship where I float in a flood of
joyful emotions with no barriers.
A flood where I float in bliss, happiness and love.
Not as I do now feeling only fear, helplessness and sorrow.
I grew up loving my parents, and fearing them a little.
They disappointed me, hurt, betrayed and abandoned me.
Now I feel afraid to love completely,
to protect myself from ever feeling this hurt again.
If I don't protect myself who will protect me.
So a life of isolation is what is in store for me.
I need to start digging a tunnel to get out of this hell hole,
to escape the darkness and find the light.
I have to stop blaming myself, for my family being like barbwire 'untouchable'
It is not my fault my mother was misguided, mistaken and confused.
or my fault my father abandoned us and died.
I know once I accept this I will find the light.
Free to live and love .
The first time in my life.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 10:41 AM UTC
something
i wish for
is for
someone to love
me
people joke
but there's a twist
they joke about terrible
things
they joke about
suicide and
mental states
why do they do that?
something i want
is for something to just
go my way for
once
i want
for someone to be
kind and
acknowledge me
rain falling outside my window
represents all of
the tears of the world
dripping
and the droplets
of the sky
cling on to trees
like i cling on to hope
suicidal thoughts cloud
my head every day
i always
push
them away
falling into depression
both the suffering
cell-mate and
the cruel jailer
i want the door to swing open
and to be free
but with bad things
repeatedly happening
i don't think it'll open
no friends
school is hell
my sister hates me
my dog doesn't even love me
get out of this hell
maybe live in another world
being a fangirl
that would truly make me happy
because is there anything in this world
that wants me?
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 12:56 PM UTC
How had he found himself in this dungeon
a knight thrown in here.
Sent by his king on his first secret mission
true he was dressed as a peasant.
Harshly he'd been treated a new experience
but not regretting being sent.
This awful place never inside one before
an eye opener for him.
Here he couldn't stay had to escape
report back to the king.
Noticed a sharp piece of wood at hand
shouting out a demand.
The jailer angrily came to the cell door
he banged on the grill.
In a temper the snarling man entered
within seconds he was dead!
Silently falling on to the dank stone
the knight left alone!
Few humans scurried about in passageways
of the castles lower depths.
Coming upon a sentry post a guard stood
soon his life had expired!
Putting on the uniform he was going home
with a sword he would roam.
Very lax security the knight slowly walked
into the alien countryside.
Luckily not challenged he saw a lone soldier
getting off his horse.
Never feeling the blow now homeward bound
with the information found!
Indeed the Barron was a traitor to his king
the knight an army would bring!
The Foureyed Poet.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 10:25 PM UTC
To live is to research happiness
and homes for the pleasure of ending.
People, through illusions, can shape
happy possibilities from speech and position.
Don't write it out.
A life more useful than tragic
is original in a moment,
can transcend as well as
fall into mistakes and experiences.
To get your body to lean
as far forward over the
insurmountable bubble as possible,
Is to create magic that consists of gateways
and actions -- the outcome of which
can place a thinker with only few
leaps stranger than your enemies.
Always forgive.
Magic sometimes longer than a pause
between morality and naked minds
influences the two ways a relapse synapse will run.
The true temptation of safety can be
carpeted by play dough and play grounds.
It's better to not sustain interfering manufactors,
to not pirate the lies a man historically risks
on quality of thoughts,
But instead depend the nature of your virture
on exploration at the heart of echoes.
Why should you quit?
A human's greatest obstacle is finding the principles
we don't discover with the jailer listening and
men afraid to rock the boat.
Give better than you dare have.
Reset the age of the mind and give parallel
truths at the point of sweeping tides.
To understand the laws of popular drifting,
compromise the art of part establishing,
occupy an ambitious ideal;
You will lose an elevation over not being, not remembering.
Sometimes treading water becomes a nuisance,
and you'll lose a choice in the dungeon.
Don't abandon your force.
Don't regret the pursuit of circumstances.
Don't delude a reputation of bridges and evidence.
Empathy is traveling the world for imagination and salvation.
We are here for a spell; one equality
shreds the ears ready to get you in trouble.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
Bringing us to life,
Nurturing us, caring for us.
Teaching us all manner of things,
From beginning to end.
Ever going onward, ravaging us in its wake.
Leaving no pebble unturned in passing.
Tearing through and affecting all.
Seeing a shell left behind, mourning a loss,
rejoicing in release, if ever it will come.
If ever one is released, by our ever present jailer.
Time.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
sometimes the prisons that hold us
have no walls ceiling or door
we are our own jailer
judge and jury
we’re the only ones
can set us free
Oct 29, 2021
Oct 29, 2021 at 10:22 PM UTC
I ,
yes I the traveller have long seeked the moon ,
the stars and the sun ,
often they have slipped my gaze ,
now only a blanket covers my eyes ( blinded by the sun )
Have you met the story teller of the great ‘ I am ‘ ?
of his tales should I tremble ,
in his halls the lost do not seek ,
the sick and poor enter his halls with praise .
For even this Gods patience will one day like sand fall from his blood stained hands onto beaches castles were built .
Now begone with you for even I must sleep ,
and find comforts no man should wish .
For the monsters of the deep have found me ,
Lust ,pride , bitterness and fear .
Look my jailer comes with chains you can hear that drag down the passage on this dark satanic night .
Sage if you see him tell him what might have been ,
and sorrows only purpose is love .
Are you still there ?
Dam what’s wrong with my eyes ?
I used to visit the fairground ,
Preachers like Wolves used to say ‘ come this way ‘
‘ come that for a shilling , for a crown ‘.
The musics stopped ,
I can’t hear the music and what of the great hall ?
The story teller I must find on this blessed night .
Now a chain mail of Norman men rise in my sea of despair ,
they like skeleton snakes rattle like memories in my head .
Surrender or capture the light ?
Holy Spirit my demons confront me and darken my night ,
for this must end in heaven or hell I bid it the light .
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 1:42 PM UTC
Dwelling is a razor
regret, drip-fed poison
guilt, a creaking chain as it tightens around my neck.
Stockholm syndrome has me
in that
lovelifedeath
grip.
And as my own jailer
I rail against myself
Caught in a purgatory-
safe
drawing blood
then consoling.
I can't see........
My corneas tear in the wind
there's some metaphysical connection, I know it
I don't want to look at my life as it is
The guilt twists my guts
I'm pathetic in my failures
and grasping at a fading light.
Ah perfectionism, my abusive lover;
you endow me such power, then beat me senseless
I'm goddess, then mortal-
panicking
frail
with nowhere but elusive horizons to go.
Phosphenes
those bright spots of colour
as I rub my eyes-
Once again I wake too early
and that too-familiar cyanide starts to leak through my veins
and anxiety grips me
How'll I ever get it right
make it out
fix it all
come out from under
breathesucceedrelaxenjoybeworthsomething
in short
has my bright patch of colour had its day?
I can't
face it.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
The Philippi rulers had Paul and Silas beaten, imprisoned and their feet clamped into the stocks.
Paul and Silas prayed and sang praises to The Lord continuously after the cell was locked.
But at midnight the prisoners bonds were unfastened when the foundation started to shake.
This happened because God caused an earthquake.
The jailer feared the rulers because he thought the prisoners had escaped and he was going to commit suicide.
But Paul told him that they were still there and the jailer saw all of the prisoners, what Paul said was verified.
The jailer asked Paul and Silas how that he could be saved and he was told.
They said to believe in Jesus and he would be saved along with his household.
The jailer cleaned Paul and Silas's wounds and then they baptized the jailer's family.
Paul and Silas were released from prison and then they were asked to leave the city.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
She is a blush of the summits during the sunrise,
She is the ray of hope in the heart of the failure.
She is the light in the dark life of the jailer.
She is buried deep within the soul of an erring,
She is affable, she is daring.
She completes the incomplete, takes away the complete.
Her laugh, her smile, will take away your tears.
She will answer to thy holy prayers.
She will console, she will hurt,
She will shed away your discomfort.
She is the fragrance of the flowers,
She is the sparkle of the moonlit night.
She is the cause of contrite.
She is the tune of the upright.
She gives, she takes.
She will make mistakes.
She will rise, she will destroy.
She will rejoice, express joy.
She isn't weak or bleak,
Do not question her physique, she is unique.
She will disown, she will deceive.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
Anigh, is the darkling of the effrontery eagle, effaced, replaced; it's worship towards the devil. Gallons of blood, used as cover, ash and mud; defiling of ****** mother's. Gallizing men drowned in sweetness of drunkened friends. Gamins created by cankered loot, oil fills the pockets; diamonds make slaves to. Gangrels run kingdom's from their ancestral hand-me-downs, gaolers imprison innocents, whilst thy rulers throw ****** for babes at compounds. Innovators; mocking God's name. Mixing men with robotics, keeping the pure obscured, locking animals in a cage. Inorbing creation with cameras as eyes, like rats they scurry, hide; when the truth is knocking. Like a drunkard; This circular hell shalt rock as a ship, many planet's art approaching, none help shalt thou get.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry
©prophetic poetry.
Word meanings:
Anigh: near.
Darkling: growing darkness.
effrontery: shameless.
Eagle: the united states.
Effaced: erased, forgotten.
Gallizing: add water plus sugar to make stronger wine from grape juice.
Gamins: neglected boy left to the streets.
Gangrel: vagrant, loose built person.
Gaoler: jailer.
Whilst:while.
Thy:your.
Inorb: encircle, surround.
Circular hell: earth.
Art:are.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 1:49 PM UTC
Many hats on my head,
Many titles to claim,
I find it fulfilling to be,
Everything that motivates me.
One day I’m a fireman,
Another day I am a jailer,
This day I’m a poet,
Tomorrow I’ll be a mailer.
What’s funny is this,
A name and a shield,
Is merely a buck for a meal,
My ignorance is so bliss.
These paths are not me,
They are merely a guide,
For me to find whomever is me,
On a security guard’s salary.
To make films or to weep,
To keep jails or to sleep,
To fight fires or to leap,
Into this pen of little sheep.
Why is it that I,
Aim to be that guy,
Who’s career should imply,
That I’m “something” till I die?
An artist,
An actor,
An experiment of all factors,
I try hard to be somebody,
When I’m already my own everybody.
I’m exactly what I need to be,
In this world of all these faces,
Masks grow tight around these cheeks,
Why aspire to climb mountains,
And reach such heightening places?
I’m a detective one day,
An electrician by night,
A silly little dreamer,
Always ready to take on flight.
I’ll pilot this aircraft,
And spread my wings a’sailing,
Without prejudice or hesitation,
I may not always succeed,
But I’m never failing.
Oct 23, 2023
Oct 23, 2023 at 12:20 AM UTC
Of all things unknown,
easily a non-denumerable infinity, very little will drive a person to the precipice of madness like the insignificance of a statistic - say one in seven billion,
a statistic that unhinges the mind, dragging out primitive insanity, catalyzed by spurned desire,
an insanity that is raw-
raw and sick and hungry-
feeding upon itself like an epidemic, an acid that reduces one's existence to a longing for a hypnopompic eternity, some twisted fascination that becomes an elegy for the ****** one where the past with holds the future, laughing at the heart's bipolar fluctuation between absolute paralysis and pure agony, a grey stillness to a light switch flipped off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and aren't you tired yet? Are you not chilled by truth's cold whisper, shaken awake by logic's steel grip?
It is a rare prison we build for ourselves-
trapped between what we know and what we wish,
these non-existent walls of unrequited everything,
where melancholia acts as our shackles and we sit in complete silence,
content in our discontent,
because we know,
we know that escape is intangible
when you are both jailer and
captive.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 5:02 AM UTC
Pressed for a poem
he thought he’d write
to say he loved her
and quite right too
he thought that
love should be
a statement thick
with words so tender
true yet gentle
as that soft complaining
flute he heard
in Dryden’s slick
immortal ode that
‘in dying notes
discovers woes
of hopeless lovers
whose dirge is whispered
by their warbling lute’
Oh yes come you and I
let’s like music
untune the sky!
But my dearest this day is not
the feast of Sancta Cecelia
but of a Roman priest and martyr
beheaded by the Flaminian Gate
for marrying Christians in the street.
And when imprisoned by Claudius’ decree
healed the sight of his jailer’s daughter
Lucy – by leaving her at his death a letter
‘I hope your sight gets better in time’
and signed it ‘from your Valentine ‘
(with two kisses one for each eye)
. . . and it did
Such love can
make us see anew
can help us be
forever true and
gracious to each other’s
cares each other’s woes
and live in hope
(let’s really try)
to be together
always
you and I
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 7:53 AM UTC
Originally posted 10-7-13 Deleted repost
Forever standing by a princess trapped in the primative land called "Killer of Dreams".
In you "she" sees that light at the end of tunnel of darkness sent from heaven above.
To you "she" is the sun, the earth and all in the galaxy that's right in your world.
To "she" you are that one of a kind and rare being who is deserving of eternal love.
You sit by shore in palatial abode atop mountain but not part of valley's kingdom,
patient like no other since the creation of man brave descendant of Adam's Eve.
Against odds, "she" finds small rays of light in desolate land filled with raw hate.
Jailer dares only visit desolate place of hate briefly but keeps "she" captive resident.
Sharing life's continuing dance of when will she re-start and if he will stop loving?
Enchanted day(music's fading), "she" will at last finally select life's destined partner.
Burning question; Will it be you handsome brave knight who sits upon his charger?
Unknown! She loves you but "she's" the searcher and seeks what feels right to her.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
you were born in Denver
during a white out blizzard
like all round babes,
you had no clue, what was in store for you
you couldn't have known...
you would be
the last nickel to ***** through
a five-cent coin phone box,
in El Paso, Texas
or that you would sleep
for a year in a piggy bank,
of a boy named Felipe, who would die
of white blood cancer, before
he could spend you
and who would have thought
you would be in the linty pocket
of a serial murderer named Ray, when
he was captured in Santa Fe, a sunny day
on the ancient square, stalking
his next victim
a jailer used you that very night
with a twin of yours he found in
another picked pocket, of a drunk drifter,
to buy a Hershey's bar, from a machine
that would have taken a dime as well
your face began to show the fingered
signs of age by the time the choppers found sky
above the Saigon Embassy, where you had spent
an aching April night in the Ambassador's pants
when you turned a half century, you were tossed
into a gallon jug, e pluribus unum, no more special
than others a third your vintage
I finally met you today, only because chance landed you on
the top of the heap, waiting to be saved from further folly
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
The very walls I built
To keep the clutter out
Suffocate me daily
Shutting me in with my thoughts
Questioning my decisions
testing my patience.
Was I wrong? Or right?
Have I added to my mistakes?
Will I wake up tomorrow?
The burden overwhelms me
I fear that I will give in
To the heartwrenching fear
Of the unknown.
A weight settles on me
Bearing down on my chest
I heave breath after troubled breath
who knows if it's my last?
I prepare myself for death
Sink into nothingness below
For there are no worries
nothing but stillness.
No,I will not let the reaper close
But how to deal with my pain
That is anew everyday
I find fault with the sun and moon
No one to distract me
From these savage insecurities
hounding at my door
am I pretty enough? Strong?
can I do it? Will I succeed?
it seems I am doomed to doubt
Trapped by inequities
and someday I just hope
These walls will be solace
And not my jailer.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
Your smile, it sets
Sunflowers ablaze
Making me forget
About every difficult phase
Reflecting back my image
As I stare in a daze,
They lock me in a cage
The jailer, your face.
Cannot move and
Cannot see
Don't understand,
If we're meant to be
No flaw in your appearance,
No defect in your talk
Your words give me an abundance
Of clarity and of thought.
My memory never stops raving
About the wonderful sight I saw,
When all i did was to bring
It back after capturing you in awe
No story is enough
To enchant me more
Than thinking about your laugh
And what else we have in store.
But I cant tell,
I don't want you to believe
That I'm your living hell,
Who is here to deceive.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 7:01 AM UTC
She seemed to glide beautifully.
Liquid metal through the never ending flow of flowers that covered the field.
Blue, green,yellow, red, lilac.
Changing color alongside those unperceiveing of their own beauty.
He watched from afar, his throat catching itself.
Muscles petrified, the feeling he knew well yet could not explain.
Jealous of the sun that kissed her skin so gently.
He could be the one to do that for her.
But she could not see him in the shadow of that Spanish Moss.
Overhanging like a guardian, like a jailer.
His legs wouldn't move and hers wouldn't stop.
Then..... gone, only the flowers left swaying in the light breeze.
And the boy in the shade watching with an aching heart.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
it's always worse than it seems.
there are so many smiles everyday
but you can never know whose world is upside down.
it's just easier to smile than explain why i'm sad.
and this depression is like a prison
that makes me both the prisoner and the jailer.
i guess death seems more inviting than life does.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 11:41 PM UTC