The ceiling had only window in the room
One could rarely see a bird above the dome
Left there to perish yet she was breathing
Watching the intensity of light shifting
Shiny and bright became dim and darkening
The light through stained glass left a marking
From the door projected a silhouette dense
From day dream that captured her sense
Thirsty and weary of cuffs and fetters
Her tongue stub found no words to utter
He kept coming in for a look closer
At the desiccated face of the prisoner
He gave her water, bread butter and wine
To see if life in her eyes might shine
The count of days she had surely lost
She needed fire warmth in cold and frost
So many questions and he asked none
The performer acted and left when done
She wanted to tell him she was fine
The last time when he brought her wine
C.
YOU ARE READING
Unpublished Poems
PoetryI had worked on my poem one whole summer, perfecting the story and structure and rhyme and rythym. And when he read it he asked, 'Why don't you write about what you feel when you can write very well? I mean all that goes on in your head, that rage i...
