In the darkened room,
Where the army hides,
And many have forgotten,
Their last good-byes,
Lies a secret,
Unknown to most,
Except the prisoners,
And those at their post.
The guards are hidden,
Quite skillfully.
Inside the walls,
They lie silently.
They watch the prisoners,
Who work under strain,
Although a calm exterior,
They try to maintain.
They must solve a puzzle,
Devised by their master,
Who wants the resolution,
The better, the faster.
He hovers over,
With a watchful eye,
And will shoot without blinking,
If there’s so much as a cry.
He pours on the pressure,
With immoral delight,
As the prisoners work,
Without trying to fight.
They work in this room,
Where the soldiers hide,
The door is marked “violent,”
So it says, on the outside.
The proof of the violence,
Is there in plain view,
Dead bodies are hung,
From the ceiling, askew.
The bodies are proof,
Of what happens if they falter,
The prisoners don’t want,
To become part of that altar.
So they work without breaking,
Or even a whisper,
No thoughts of a brother,
No thoughts of a sister.
All is forgotten,
Except the task that’s at hand.
It must be finished,
Less supply than demand.
And all this goes on,
Without your awareness,
You continue to rant,
About your life’s unfairness.
But if only you took,
A second to think,
About those prisoners,
Who get shot if they blink.
Then maybe you’d see,
Just how lucky you are,
To live far from the master,
And his merciless guards.
But if you’re a prisoner,
And this you do read,
Then you must have finished,
Your task and were freed.
I then congratulate you,
On a job quite well done,
Although right now you are dreaming,
Wide awake, under the gun.
So get back to your work,
And forget about this,
I’ll just detain you,
And then you’ll miss.
You failed, you flunked,
The puzzle is shattered,
Your story won’t end,
With a happily ever after.

prison old.jpg

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