Prison Of Home

A free flowing non-form piece about life from someone not welcome in the outside

I lie trapped within a chilled prison

Today it is unscorched

Personal items line the walls yet offer no comfort

There are others like me, somewhere

Yet we hide away in preservation of our selves.

To go out, a death sentence

To go out, a venture without reward

From within these walls we may find others' voice

Crying to distract us from our woes

Suffering to distance us from our pain

Laughing to deliver us reason to go on

How many are truly like me?

Without family

Without friend

Without purpose

We survive in spite of an order that demands prosperity or perish

Dark hearts hunt outside for us

Priding themselves on mirages of superiority, delusions of a higher command

To fight back, we become monsters

To entreat alternatives, we sacrifice for naught

What option have we then, us few, to survive and blossom?

The sun would burn us to ash

Yet the planet freezes us to our bones

Bitterness and insanity are the gifts left to us

Bestowed by a god in mockery of our identities

For curse?

Perhaps punishment?

The air lies silent, bereft of answer, and all we are granted is another day of imprisonment

Desperate to find freedom

Dreaming of serenity

Drowning in the reality of hatred for shadows we cannot alter.

The world burns

And to avoid being sacrificed I turn over in my cot

Continuing to tremble in fear of my door

One I might lock

But can never stop from opening.

Author's Note

Free flowing thought poetry with lack of any real form. I wrote this to paint with some words for a friend.