Imaginary Prison

I’m trapped and I can’t get out.
The chains of my bondage
Have shattered my soul.
A grey mass of filth
And putridity, a nest of squirming maggots, tumbles
Recklessly from my chin.
Patches from ancient trousers, cursed by the sin of their former wearers,
Protects my legs from the ravishings of
The disease-laden drafts,
Malaria-infested rain-which through
Slits in the mortar and stone of my
Cell seep-and
The rodents, with their devil-may-care
Snarling.
My flesh devours itself as
My bowl full of maggots-with soup
Mixed in-is tossed out the
Window.
The Window.
There is a Window,
A taunting, cruel-hearted Window,
Which chuckles as a ray of warmth
Slips between the blockade of its iron sentries, here
A second, then lost forever as my
Eyes lap it up like hostages
Marooned on a desert isle.
They say Freedom doesn’t exist-the bastards!
You know what Freedom is-it’s the
Carrot dangling on a pole before the horses,
Goading their foaming skin and bones onward,
Egging them on to reach the Impossible,
Until there’s naught but his shoes left.
Then, chortling with contempt,
They toss the carrot to the wretched beast.

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