bipolar jaws of life
2015-09-04 23:53:06 UTC
My Home in Hell
My home is one of heartache,
a place of steel and stone,
a cell - a home in hell,
and here I must atone.
For all my crimes I pay with time,
where lights glare night and day;
and though I rage and pace my cage,
I still have to stay.
My home in this hell is a small cell,
that no man wants to own;
for here I spend my life condemned,
a man the world disowns.
So I, the damned, within these walls crammed,
lie in my man-made grave;
a man all men condemn for my sins,
but no one strives to save.
Each bitter day, I pray,
to any God unknown;
my hope is fed on fear and dread,
but these are only bones.
I feel an ache as if a stake,
were driven in my heart;
no greater curse, no hunger worse,
than hope within my heart.
I face the wall and taste the gall,
of failure and defeat,
but hope is cheap, where life is cheap,
and thoughts of freedom bittersweet.
I beat and maul the wall,
and walk the floor;
I damn each day the prison way,
and hope for one chance more.
Men scream within my hell,
but I'm a man alone,
my tears of pain like bitter rain,
spilldown on naked stone.
These chains of steel can never feel,
things that I hold dear;
but these chains of men are kinder than,
the men who keep me here.
My every loss becomes a cross,
which I have to bear alone;
for no appeal will sever steel,
or move a heart of stone.
It seems that my dreams,
must wait for each tomorrow;
my days are made of tears,
and misery and sorrow.
Late in the night I wake and light,
a smoke and listen;
to all the snores behind steel bar doors,
and long for all I'm missing.
The things men hate and mutilate,
are those that all men value;
the minds of men, the will within,
the spirit God gives you.
The right to sin, but to rise again,
a free man not a slave;
to find a friend and at the end,
escape this human grave.
In prison's mill, time rapes each will,
with all the years;
I seldom find a man who's kind,
if I shed blood or tears.
The strong, both blacks and whites,
each put into a cell;
how long they'll stay no man can say,
for only time will tell.
And none can say how much they'll pay,
of pain within each cell;
for each man must pay in his own way,
within their own private hell.
This home in hell I'd sell,
to anyone passing by;
or give it away - or even pay,
so I could say goodbye.
To sleepless nights, and glaring lights,
to guns, and bars and chains;
to these walls of stone, and men alone,
and years I can't regain.
© 2009, Kevin T.
My home is one of heartache,
a place of steel and stone,
a cell - a home in hell,
and here I must atone.
For all my crimes I pay with time,
where lights glare night and day;
and though I rage and pace my cage,
I still have to stay.
My home in this hell is a small cell,
that no man wants to own;
for here I spend my life condemned,
a man the world disowns.
So I, the damned, within these walls crammed,
lie in my man-made grave;
a man all men condemn for my sins,
but no one strives to save.
Each bitter day, I pray,
to any God unknown;
my hope is fed on fear and dread,
but these are only bones.
I feel an ache as if a stake,
were driven in my heart;
no greater curse, no hunger worse,
than hope within my heart.
I face the wall and taste the gall,
of failure and defeat,
but hope is cheap, where life is cheap,
and thoughts of freedom bittersweet.
I beat and maul the wall,
and walk the floor;
I damn each day the prison way,
and hope for one chance more.
Men scream within my hell,
but I'm a man alone,
my tears of pain like bitter rain,
spilldown on naked stone.
These chains of steel can never feel,
things that I hold dear;
but these chains of men are kinder than,
the men who keep me here.
My every loss becomes a cross,
which I have to bear alone;
for no appeal will sever steel,
or move a heart of stone.
It seems that my dreams,
must wait for each tomorrow;
my days are made of tears,
and misery and sorrow.
Late in the night I wake and light,
a smoke and listen;
to all the snores behind steel bar doors,
and long for all I'm missing.
The things men hate and mutilate,
are those that all men value;
the minds of men, the will within,
the spirit God gives you.
The right to sin, but to rise again,
a free man not a slave;
to find a friend and at the end,
escape this human grave.
In prison's mill, time rapes each will,
with all the years;
I seldom find a man who's kind,
if I shed blood or tears.
The strong, both blacks and whites,
each put into a cell;
how long they'll stay no man can say,
for only time will tell.
And none can say how much they'll pay,
of pain within each cell;
for each man must pay in his own way,
within their own private hell.
This home in hell I'd sell,
to anyone passing by;
or give it away - or even pay,
so I could say goodbye.
To sleepless nights, and glaring lights,
to guns, and bars and chains;
to these walls of stone, and men alone,
and years I can't regain.
© 2009, Kevin T.