Saturday, August 22, 2015

The Inmate



In an ancient, crumbling prison
By the royal order old
Lies a long forgotten inmate
In the dungeon shadows cold

By the sentence spoken long ago
He rises but to stand
The chains tug at his ankles
And the shackles weigh his hands

And though the chains are shadows
And the manacles a dream
To him the whip is waiting
If he dare but stir his feet

Lost in darkness and the cold
Unfettered and unknown
Ignored, the call of freedom
And the chance of going home

To him, the door is bolted fast
The guards are at the gate
The doors for him have opened
But they have unlocked too late