Confinement by Chris G.

Posted: January 18, 2008 in Poems
You get to know yourself all too well
doing time in a confinement cell.
No T.V., no radio, no magazines.
The only songs I hear are the ones I sing.
Into the scriptures some will heed.
Of course, that’s all we’ve been given to read.
Sometimes at night, you can’t sleep a wink,
and all you do is think and think.
Every past regret and resentful face
are plastered upon the walls of this place,
reminding me from the very start,
reliving every broken heart.
 
You might catch a conversation on the vent
with the man upstairs whom you’ve never met.
There’s the dude in the cell across the wing;
unless you both know sign language, you can’t say a thing.
I hear someone somwhere scream at nothing
and the guy next door has gone to cutting.
They rushed him out dripping blood.
I guess he’d had quite enough.
In here our souls become a distant chant.
Some can take it; others can’t .
When the steel door slams, the cell becomes your mind
and into it you have become confined.

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