The Prisoner

He looks through the same dull window
Every day
When he remembers to look up at all

There is a grand old world out there
Of memory
But the world inside has grown very small

To what end?
To what means?
A self-serving universe
In a never ending spin

To what use?
To what plan?
An Escher-like existence
To return where it begins

He looks through the same dull glasses
Time, time again
As if hoping will make a better day

The prisoner does not question
Just doing time
He pauses and he turns his gaze away

tjp 5/222/09

Ship of Fools

There are no heroes here
Just the walking wounded and barely conscious
Amongst those intended to serve

There is no glory here
Just the blinded bearers of consequences
Who reap more than they could deserve

The light of day makes it go astray
The light brings it all into view
The dark of night brings it into sight
The dark makes it troubled and true

There’ll be no sleep in here
Just the ghosts of worry for all tomorrows
For all that is done and undone

There is no joy in here
Just a ship of fools sailing out of harbor
Who silently cry for no one

tjp 5/10/09