The Warden
The Warden is angry again.
He hangs his gun belt outside
the door, and steps inside my
dour cage-
Fist full of razor blades.
I can hear the heavy drops
of mercurial cerise blooming
as it hits the concrete.
"Open your mouth, Son."
My teeth raze through bits of cheek
as they instinctively collide.
Even in the face of a turbid
shadow, I know what is coming- again.
I clench, and push his sublimated
hands away from my throat.
Echoes of laughter illuminate throughout
the Prison; throbbing inside my carapace
alongside my heartbeat.
"You know you can't win. You never do."
As my body writhes I can feel the air
in the room dissipating.
A fire begins to kindle in my skull as
a soft hand gently strokes my slick
brow as if to say. "Give in."
And yet, I fight. For hours.
As the echoes only pound harder.
Like the Bodhran drums of my forefathers
whose blood gave me will.
And yet, every man breaks in the face
of Eternity.
Every sin has its cost.
-James Kelley 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
