THE PRISONER AND HIS LIES

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Composed and breathes with grace.

He walks with poise in the aisles.

Corpses tremble, run and carry their grave.

He speaks mild yet potentially devouring.

He lay with the moon beside him.

With no nightmare to scare his dream.

He wakes up with glassy face and shimmering divine.

The sun serves him coffee and cream.

With his demand, he gets his guts.

Luxury is his crime and highest order.

Wealth are his people, people are his keeper.

And, he blinks with the diamonds.

He drinks, only, with very good vintage.

He quotes in no book's page.

Feasts are his simple dinner.

He has his own highway for his rides.

But each night he comes home.

And turns the key to his cell and lie down.

He looks at the sky wondering why.

Having freedom has become a fantasy in living.

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