Locked within the confines of my mind’s dark cell,
Both convict and captor, a self made hell.
Each thought a shackle, every memory a bar,
Confined by my own mind, a prisoner of psychological scars.
In this self-imposed exile, I am utterly alone,
A solitary figure locked in a world of dark, cold stone.
Forsaken by hope, abandoned by light,
I dwell in the shadows, a prisoner of everlasting night.
These lonely walls echo my silent screams,
As I fight with demons, trapped in dreadful dreams.
I reach out for redemption, but find none there,
In this self made prison, my remorseful soul lays bare.
For I am the architect of my own demise,
Sentenced to solitude, beneath storming skies.
Cramped within the confines of my own creation,
Condemned to a life of eternal damnation.
Categories:
sentenced, anger, angst, dark, emotions,
Form: Rhyme
Incredibly Sentenced
To make each part everlasting;
She lasted her up with each end.
If things don’t work out, change the way of livin’it up!
Trying to make it more messed up is not the solution anyway.
Just for an egoistic dumb, she ended up all her attribution in the sake of
respect which lied at every step of true sentiments.
“On the days when the inner voice is incredibly unkind, try to be grateful for
what you have and pay it no mind”
Categories:
sentenced, lost, spoken word,
Form: Free verse
I wear my heart on paper
Ink fills my veins like blood
reviews cut like a razor
but I’m addicted to the pen.
I pump words with every heartbeat
I hoard paragraphs in my room
I take interjections like a junkie
I wear verbs like a parfum.
I’m feeling the contractions
as I erase awkward phrases
I write sad poems that feel like skin.
and fill sheets of diary pages
I blush at lurid pronouns
that I conjure then,
I consider putting word-play off
but I’m sentenced to the pen
.
.
.
*Inspired by Michael R. Burch's poem: At the Natchez Trace
Categories:
sentenced, 11th grade, words, write,
Form: Free verse
Writing…
not the beginning of verse,
but the end
Grabbing life by the throat,
the birth of a thought
—whose story begins
Captive together,
they walk word by word
toward the jury
Scars and accolades,
joy and strife
—in sentenced glory
(Ronald McDonald House: January, 2020)
Categories:
sentenced, words, writing,
Form: Rhyme
Sentenced to love
Since I broke your heart my life is like a desert with no water, never feeling the kiss of a single raindrop.
Lonely days as a single cloud, floating across wide open sky, not even that of a bird my eyes see or company to keep.
Wanting to call, to hear from sweet missed lips, words whispered in an ear missing the song of the angel they cry out to hear.
From distant lands muted songs over eons and down ages, you calling my name, rings out loud and clear.
Never felt or wanted this ache and pain that rises from so deep within, that no one from past or future can name, a tsunami of tears pour from a wounded soul when a song brings back memories of times together washes over me.
I see a sunrise a moon set on the horizon, I feel myself in your tender arms,
rose scented moments no longer we share.
How do I end it will you ever be replaced? Help me please, take this cup of bitterness from my hands won’t someone set me free?
My prison my love, the bars my misery. The guard mistakes that hold the key, that just won’t let me be.
By
Patrick D
Categories:
sentenced, feelings, girlfriend, heartbroken,
Form: I do not know?
Involuntarily I exist in this institution
Experiencing the pain that’s dedicated to my life
I plead the fifth to the constitution
It’s strange, I never lived once, but somehow I’ve died thrice
A sacrificial lamb lay to pasture
Covered in hatred, drenched in loathing, exposed and despised
Just some of the stones I gathered
Along with scorned words, disrespect and lies
Uncomfortably I lay in my tomb
Placed here because I’ve tried to love you
I’m moving over and making room
Because, I too sentence you to this doom
Categories:
sentenced, conflict, crazy, deep,
Form: Dramatic Verse
They place my vowel
Under barren landscape
Sipping from cracked porcelain cup
Of an alienated heartbeat
Devilish grins
Slapping Karma’s bottom,
A quarterback’s misguided win
Liar’s prophetic retinas glaze
With metric, disciplinary ruler
They place my consolidated lyric
On upper hand
Of cubic zirconium petulance
Their torn, lanolin coated tissue
Degrading polyester embedded uniform
Mislead by “savior’s” belief
A desolate embodiment of character
They observe me
With cherry coated pupils
Through rusty, iron bars
Its frosty echoes
Portraying fickle sonatas in these stale winds
Yet,
My ambient tear
Is simply a hoax for their recycled victory
Holding wooden spoon against my waist
Ready to crawl
©Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
sentenced, judgement, life, metaphor,
Form: Free verse
It’s no fun when you
Want to write and few words are
There on your page though
Thousands lodge within your brain –
Sentenced, without release.
Categories:
sentenced,
Form: Tanka
they sentenced me to
pay off your credit cards and
back tax ring that bell
they sentenced me to
be subjected to grumpy
not so special day
they sentenced me to
wish I didn't waste my time
trying to be sweet
they sentenced me to
wonder about your motives
it feels so phony
they sentenced me to
first take back my heart and then
protect it from you
Categories:
sentenced, angst, anniversary, confusion, depression,
Form: Haiku
Sentenced To Live,Licenced To Give
Chariot of horse,clarion with hoarse,bastion of choice.
I project aboard,my walk in life about.
On the abrasive of craft,by the shaft of the tool of want,
I decipher the yields of the fields.
Aesthetics and complexities;my work will wodge a lodge
to harness.This legacy,these messages variegate my
desires to attune in aspire.
Sentenced to live,then I reason death to poison.
The umbrella to shade the form,the aubriella conform affix.
Bounties of gain liken to effigies of main.
The course of drive my cause,the fuss of cline my force,
The joys of life my plot.
When I look upon the mountain of roam,to decibel my
fountain of goal-As a forethought:I cladded my mind in rock,
Later with my furnace of of prise,it melted into a rise of emission.
To give my flakes in resource,to lift my stakes in return,
To even on the pallet of balance my reward.
Licenced to give,coffers of valour belay the corners of colours
and honours.
Adeola Yusuf Amuni
Categories:
sentenced, allegorylife,
Form: Rhyme
They took the poet and sentenced
him to death. His crime was
simply not wanting to write crappy
poetry, but rather wanted his pen
to run with the wild things. To
create canvases of imagination
for anyone to see. the clouds
and green oaks would bow
to him and gladly shed paper
and a comfortable breeze for him
But not all love life, and not
all see things in this way.
Chaining him to his musing
rock, they left him to drown
with his poems. As his wife
looked on with a single tear
dropping into the salty waves
bid goodbye to her love
his poems bled their syllables
and metaphors, similes no longer
smiling or singing. All drown
with the coming dawn. Now
the town is silent. No more
beautiful songs are rising from
the wooden roofs anymore.
In his condemnation, they
condemned themselves to a
life of ignorant bliss.
Occasionally his poems resurface
a distant reminder of something
foolishly forgotten. The Poet
may yet live on, but only
at the behest of the wind
and salty sea.
Categories:
sentenced, deathpoems,
Form: Free verse
The dimly lit room seems even smaller
As days turn into lonely weeks
If not for the one band of light that reaches
Like fingers to touch my lonely soul
I would have no sight of walls at all
I would have no feeling of life
I am held to solitude for accountability
As it was my fault that the death occurred
There was no chance for life, for suffocation
Was the natural solution for that heart
So now, I cry within myself as I pray
For release from my own prison
Categories:
sentenced, angst, life, lonely,
Form: Free verse
As I peer down from this concrete tower and
out onto this city I call home... With its
concrete sidewalks and the people who seem
to stare endlessly into an empty abyss. As
they each clamor to gain a foot hole in
this never ending ascend climb to the top of a
mountain that never seems to end. This
concrete slab were I reside, which has
become my prison from within, a jailhouse
sentence by my neighbor who only aspire to
become a drug dealer or smoke some weed... Truly
they have become the cancer to those trying
to survive from day to day in this concrete
place we all call home. Eating away at their souls
and the very fiber of life…Here in the very
bowls on her belly I have immersed myself
into a fictitious existence in an attempt to
dilute my mind of any awareness of my
current condition and the fact that I sit inside
my own home, were I have become the
prisoner. This place I call home, has now become
my jail cell without even being sentence.
Jay Andrew Anderson-Taylor
Copyright ©2008 Jay Andrew Anderson-Taylor
Categories:
sentenced, life, day, cancer, drug,
Form: I do not know?