Tucked behind bars
Prison promises
He rocks for hours
On a damp concrete floor
Cell thirty-one
Holds a man who
Churns with madness
Spits on guards
Haunts other prisoners
With visceral chide
Once the sky falls again
The moon reads the
Palm of his hand
Guilty
He weeps and gasps for
Air that seems scarce
On his bed of stone
Joints buckle
Unjust hours trudge
As the just slumber
In freedom
Dawn loses meaning
There are no days
Only sun and moon
Sun and moon
His passion
His gun
His conviction
Life with
Life without
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Author:
Katie B. (
Offline) - Published: June 9th, 2026 12:27
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
Prison is not a place that one would desire to be. I have seen it as an intern many years ago and it is full of all walks of life and all kinds of people from the brilliant to the deficient from the strong to the weak and from the guilty to the innocent. Well written Katie
Many thanks!
You are most welcome
Having worked inside those walls, its a sad place indeed. Well said. Thanks for sharing.
Katie, this really hit me hard. The atmosphere is oppressive from the very first lines...a portrait of confinement that feels physical, emotional, and psychological all at once. The weight of it lingers long after the poem ends. Powerful piece, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
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