The Warden



Beautiful things forsaken

Dwell in a pit inside of me

They haven’t been fooled

Prison is not sanctuary


Shackled by iron to the floor

My long-term memories

Are beginning to appeal

From the hell of solitary


Behind stone walls and towers

They petition ‘falsely accused’

They’re clamoring, crucifying

Refuse to sink into their tombs


Once quiet tragedies undying

No more lock and key

Your verdict is overruled

Before my insanity’s increased.



All Rights Reserved © August 2016 John J Vinacci

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