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These Prison walls

These words
falling flowers
into the night
these letters binding
building prisons
to protect me from the light.
I sing the songs so quietly
and I barely know they're there
but the thorns rip in sublimely
and I'm bleeding unaware.
I cannot remember
the beauty of the dawn
so I paint crooked pictures
upon these prison walls.
I have seen the irovy towers
are built of humble flesh
and darkness that moves in shadows
feigning death.
I have known the sorrow
of the masses underfoot
and I have seen the horror
I had bartered for a look.
So many nights I've trembled
cold sweats and concrete floors
Imaginings I have tendered
I can pretend no more.
I had been the wretched
I had been a paltry King
I had been elected
but had not led a thing.
I had felt the pangs of hunger
false piety of ancient lore
gluttonous and ravenous
I am these things no more.
And now I give this fear to the fire
This Love like no other beneath the nails
and pity to the funeral pyre
because the pyre never fails.
I had surrendered madness
to the grave where it belongs
that I may watch my sadness
turn to gladness in these songs.

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