Walls
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A poem about being imprisoned with no hope of
escape - POWs must have felt this way when
they were kept captive during the second world
war. Please R/R!
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These walls are merciless, yet still truthful,
They trap a mind and body, no longer youthful,
All honour is lost in the ebbulient black broth,
Engulfed by that fear by which I betroth.

These walls are barriers, causing anger and pain,
Only a single shaft of light inspires my brain,
A mind confined in this black timeless universe,
Realises that this existence is but a pointless curse.

These walls are eternal, causing everlasting rage,
I am trapped in a moment, in this infinite cage,
My heart is now lost; sacred spirit and soul,
My body is no longer that once magnificent whole.

These walls are sentrys, forever are they strong,
They hold the past and future for which I long,
I try to draw water from those derilict wells,
But then I realise I am trapped in these cells.

These walls are darkened, an ardent crime,
They are able to divert the rough river of time,
I am an undead shadow, lost amongst the lights,
Neither alive nor dead I have no rights.

These walls are final, there is no end for me,
I am an anachronism, a mistake, that no one can see,
I do not live, nor do I die, I do not exist,
I am not inscribed on Death's final list.

By James Womack