I am the prisoner of my own.
My heart, the dead worn four walls,
My mind, the voice burying me deep.
And my eyes, ashamed to look at me.
Love had measured me down,
Kindness stepped out.
Care abandoned me long,
Respect never came home.
I am the prisoner of my memories,
Of the times when cruelty was a stranger,
A prisoner of guilt I am,
A shadow standing taller than me,
Constricting me down deep,
No way out, just endless darkness it seems.
Oh I am the prisoner of my own.
My voice, it forgot my name,
My arms, refuse to hold me the same,
And my soul, locked away, far away.
Your fingers around my soul.
So, I was convicted innocently
Worn out, pallid and tired, brooding
in a mire of self-pity, blighted by uninspiring events
of the shallow life of an innocent convict.
Disenchanted, but I knew the culprit.
“I own your signature.” I whispered.
I languished in a narrow prison cell,
contemplating the day, I would leave
that hollow incumbency of a dreary life.
Time out. The grounds were empty. I was kept alone,
walking around in my languid manner, indifferent,
a psychotic self-imposed dementia.
Time in, the grounds deserted,
back to the cell, they call my home,
staring vacantly into the desolate void,
waiting like a cat that hunts its prey,
crouching still as death to deliver death.
One day they'll open the outer shell
of my cocoon and send me out,
into a changed world. Then, perhaps
I'll come alive and begin my quest.
I’ll deliver his famous gift to him.
“I’m a vampire rose.” Deadly.
I’ll deliver the gift to the one
who betrayed me and have my revenge.
Placed 2
Other prisoners in the jail that they sent him to
will have great fun with that
I served in the Royal Navy for 18th month, but
When they wanted me to hold a gun, I refused
They sent me back to a small office where
I spent time making food lists.
Sure, I know the argument, the right to wear
arms to protect your family, not to kill their
own flesh and blood before shooting themselves
Fair maiden, you've come to save me, just in time.
I am a poor prisoner of rhyme.
We'll smell the blossoms. We'll drink the wine.
Oops, I just made another Frankenstein.
Two carbon entities
exhale green miasmas
and throttle white throats
in a noose of iron.
The cored captives
diaphanous and rasping
plummet to frightful circles
where sardonic wraiths
gnarl wingèd flesh
in screeching packs
as time loops reverberate
manic and mindless.
When the moon weeps in the clouds bitterly, The pole star appears in the dark sky, Mistaken that star for the morning star,Venus , The pearl merchant starts his long journey, The thieves captured him as a prisoner, He has no way of escaping from them, His family business has shattered at last, when the moon weeps in the clouds bitterly.
21.
Independent Prisoner
Found Mr. Al Gator guilty human killer
Law impartial show must him in railing teeter
Croc tears flow icy eyes
Gloom mark blooms purring mice
Jail possessed by him – independent prisoner.
-01/09/2007
(Miagao)
*Topsy-Turvy Limerick Ironic
Seems like all I could see was the struggle,
haunted by ghosts that live in my past.
Bound up in shackles of all my failures that I'm being reminded of,
wondering how long it's gonna last.
Then YOU look at this prisoner and say to me,
"Child stop fighting a fight that's already been won".
Now I am redeemed and YOU set me free.
So I'll shake off these heavy chains
and wipe away every stain
and know that I'm not who I used to be.
This is ME.
Captive Soul
A mask of smile, a fortress lie
A cage existence when question lie
A fragile whisper, a silent plea
To break free wild and truly be
Fears of shadows dark and deep
Where secret lie in slumber keep
Bars of judgement, confine my flight
Shadows of doubt, eclipse the light
Feathers ruffled longing to soar
A captive sport forever more
A bird yearning to break free
A silent prisoner just to be
A whisper echoes, soft and low
Awaiting courage, yet to grow
Until the day, I break the chain
And soar on current without pain
Hope holds my wrists,
with ribbons that feel like chains—
gentle,
yet impossible to break.
I pace the bars
made of maybes,
counting instances
of what-if, could-be, and if-only,
each probe a step forward.
I press the soft faces
of my restless dreams
through the bars
of tomorrow's mirrors,
fogging the glass,
yearning with my breathing—
too close to see,
too far away to feel.
Some nights
fear rattles the locks loose,
and some negative whispers
seep into my bones,
but I will not stray.
For hope
is the only captor
I trust—
the one who feeds me light,
even through keyholes,
when all else fails.
I could flee these bounds,
and call it 'Freedom',
but I’d rather remain—
smuggling miracles of hope
foreseen through distant cracks
in midnight’s seems.
I'm a Prisoner.
a Prisoner of Hope!
In what seems, can be?
In the cracks of my being!
How have you been, tell me the news,
first, where did you buy those kinky shoes?
Victim of fashion, prisoner of fad,
for better or worse, mad about it, good or bad.
Heard you're doing fine, have it made,
but, when did you get those slinky shades?
Modern mode, sartorial style, captured by trends,
it goes on for ever and never ends.
What have you done, relate all the facts,
now, where did you find that fancy hat?
New York, London, what's in what's not,
Paris or Rome, who calls the shots?
Moving up in the world, you have a chance,
tho', when did you purchase those swanky pants?
Who knows what goes on behind the scenes,
in all those glossy magazines?
The Prisoner in the Land of Holocaust
An east wind began to blow upon the holocaust of the west. As the one from the north stepped southward to pull a broken soul out from its prison. This prison was a deep pit with smooth sheer walls fashioned by the prisoners very own hands. The light from the one from the north pierced through the darkness of that prison. Like the moon taking on the light of the sun, the prisoner began to take on the light of his liberator.
The prisoner's lack of strength now endowed with a measure of hope and of power. With his strength renewed the prisoner reached up from below, just as the one from the north reached down from above. The hands of both meeting in a place called the middle. With hands clasped together with the strength of a 3 fold cord, the one from the north elevated the prisoner up and then out from the inside of that pit. That prisoner was set down upon the ground once called holocaust, now known as the land of the one whom was set free.
I was meant to soar
your love is smothering slowly killing me
~ won't you set me free
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2nd place 2025
There’s a feel of heaviness around me
Weighing down my body and mind
Restlessness consumes my very existence
With this cloak of despair I can’t unbind
What brings this downfall upon me
What is the purpose of this misery
Other than imprisoning me in my life
The reasoning for all this is still a mystery
My life has been taken away from me
I’m floating like a cloud in a sky despair
How long must I be made to suffer
Will there be an end to this nightmare
This rancid darkness that’s overcome me
Has shown me on earth there’s a literal hell
That will capture your mind to torture you
And your captures you can never dispel
This mental prison they call depression
Will relentlessly make you beg and plead
You desperately want to get away from here
Alive or dead regardless as long as you’re freed
Don’t think too hard.
They sting behind your eyes.
Sharp swells
from the recessing snake pit.
Faces warp, wrap, and real.
Knotted limbs
of trying tapestry.
The marriage of scale and skin.
Remember to forget.
My soul was not to keep.
A window woe.
Through eyes not mine, I see.
Take from me
what was yours already.
Prisoner.
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