In Prison

You know what they do to guys like us in prison:
Their minds toil in vile, toxin, hatred, and fires—
They stalk us like shadows, and hell will be risen
When the last of them are left damned by the Friars.
In prison, every man is an architect of his own;
He drafts, molds, and raises the life in his fists.
Neither they nor us can avoid, alleviate, or atone
A scar burned onto those hands, should it exist.
That's why in prison we stick to our side:
So nothing on us they could ever put blame.
But when we found in ourselves nothing to hide
We saw that their hearts were only the same.
And in our shared condemnation we took comfort the fact
That in any man's heaven or hell, all love stays intact.

Comments

[TrollestiaSubject]

[youtube=OD9tJJQET5k]

[Axis of Rotation]

Maybe it's because I'm tired, but I can't find anything to really say about this. I just wanted you to know I did read it, and I liked it.