Cracks

Prison life through the prisoners eyes, and emotions

                             Cracks

Cracks, in the concrete,

are like spiderwebs long abandoned.

Within these walls sit men all but forgotten.

Pale gray light reflects off shiny cold metal.

The only color in the room.

Time is never ceasing,

but almost stopping.

As guilt and rage are caged within.

If those walls were broken,

If the bars were shattered,

what torment would be unleashed,

on an unsuspecting world.

If walls could talk,

how anguished they would sound.

They'd speak of brokenness,

of loss, regret, and shame.

But mostly they'd speak of days gone by.

Lines on a wall.

Each mark a day.

A moment in a life long forfeited.

A life that only exists because,

the lungs keep breathing and the heart keeps beating.

Still, the soul is dead.

The heart, a dried up well,

Long void of emotions.

Like these naked walls these lives are laid bare.

Too be stripped of all humanity.

And what is left is a crack.

As deep as an abyss, and just as bleak.

Flora C. Posey 5/29/14