Reflections of an Inmate

Why are we, if made

possession or slave to Hate

blind - not the eye but distillation's cage

Each day a dying wish

for our world's tender days

free to choose to be "chez"

Rage of rising suns

embraced like gold to waking

no longer need, no race to run

deeper breadth for the taking

wiser hearts found in minds undone

no one made

disappointed

diminished

or "Downs"

And what is a man breaking as a sound?

hollow system of rabid hounds?

valued only to be bound...

overcome by the misery

of the common crowd,

a popular cage for crying clowns...

So what is a man born if not made

or a king to his life

made slave to hate it?

What kind of journey do we make

when our hearts only break

madness is laughing

poetry of undying

swallow in a cage,

our heaven in concrete iron graves

none can walk away

What kind of journey can this make?

[Reflections of an Inmate]

Reviews

[J Todd Underhill]

Another poem I would like to hear on our radio show www.worldpoetryopenmic.net Fridays at 8pm This one would be great!

[Butch Decatoria]

I will give it a try...thanks