The Prisoner

Here sits the prisoner
Shackled in his cell.
He wrestles with his demons,
In this private hell.

Life was much too tough for him,
And no one understood.
He tried to accept the world,
But knew he never could.

So the prisoner cut himself,
To flee back to the womb.
He thought there would be peace,
Down there in the tomb.

But death was no escape,
He even failed at this.
Saved by those who guard him,
Pulled from the abyss.

Yet failure didn't stop him,
He cut himself once more.
But again death was cheated,
Just like it was before.

The jailers watch him closely,
There's no escape today.
Perhaps he'll try one more time,
When they look away.

But the jailers dearly love him,
They are his family.
They want him to be happy,
And find his destiny.

Yet he stays in his dungeon,
His private tragedy.
Trapped within this prison,
Where he holds the only key.

So here sits the prisoner
Shackled in his cell.
Wrestling with the demons,
Of his private hell.

by Mark Spencer