poetry blues....

The moonlight filters into the cell,
The air is pungent, scarce
It falls on a figure bound in chains,
His face a wretched mask.

A shadow of life lurks behind
His sunken, dead eyes;
Evidence of a life once so good:
And then the happiness dies.

Oh what was he thinking when he cradled
The weapons in his arms; the nineteen year old,
Could he blame it on the crassness of youth
Or was it just his soiled soul?

An insurgent speech by a man of strength,
And he let humanity melt.
He poisoned his insides with wrath and hate
And the injustice he now felt.

His hands never trembled as he hid,
The bomb in midst of a mob:
He was noe completely one with the evil
Undeterred by the innocent call.

As he lies in his dingy cell today
Self hatred fills his heart.
He claimed far too many lives;
There shall be no fresh start

The door creaks open; its death’s call
They lift him on his feet.
In one weak moment he thinks of his bride
And their child he shall never see

The chains dragging behind him,
The remnants of his wasted life,
He bends the final curve.
He bows his head and begs for mercy
He knows he doesnt deserve.