Prison

I really want people,
To really be themselves,
Not closed boxes on the shelves.

And I know I am who I am when I am hungry,
I know when I’m starving with rage,
I’m not what I devour then,
I’m not a menu on a page.

But who will listen?
Who will tell me?
I’ve got the final comfort,
Because those are words,
Expressing dressed-up hurt.

I know its not true,
Populations,
People, paranoia, and,
Prisons filled with men,
Who were boys when they went in,
And will never fly again.

All sorts of wickedness,
Will dodge the bars of prison,
All, almost willing,
Caught,
Mislead,
And start again.

All sorts of lives,
All sorts of wire,
All sorts of love,
All sorts of fire.

And as addiction grows,
The judge’s hammer,
Knocks the answer,
And that is you for life.

Prison,
I can’t behold why.

–

24/02/23