Wandering the long grey corridors.
Bars reaching high up into heavens arches.
The stolid men that stare dispondantly onward.
The security guard that marches.

The old corner where I sat.
The old lunchroom where I ate.
The old friend still in cell.
The old warden that I hate.

Inside the air is stagnant and shines in the blinding light,
etched into memory forever,
in a prison I visit every night.

Every inmate is silent.
I ask for directions to leave.
Just blank stares and faces.
Resigned to staring at the floor.

Wandering solomnly as it grows more dim and grey.
I didn't commit the crimes that put me here but that won't lessen my stay.
I plead with the men to help me escape.
So I shamble further into the maze with no end in sight.
The walls echo off my cries.
Until I wake in the middle of the night.

Is this true?

---

The stasis is concrete. I don't think or feel the men are defaced.

The prison you visit every night sounds like a past.

I'd work on the adjectives.

But you're not me. Not I.

You can splice it up, make it, make it more surreal-like like your other poems, and put some heat-reality into it make it seem tangible with all the stuff.

(09-19-2021, 11:59 AM)rowens Wrote:  Is this true?

---

The stasis is concrete. I don't think or feel the men are defaced.

The prison you visit every night sounds like a past.

I'd work on the adjectives.

But you're not me. Not I.

You can splice it up, make it, make it more surreal-like like your other poems, and put some heat-reality into it make it seem tangible with all the stuff.

I appreciate your feedback. I will rearrange some of the wording.

(09-19-2021, 04:08 AM)Kerbonzo_beenz Wrote:  Wandering the long grey corridors.
Bars reaching high up into heavens arches.
The stolid men that stare dispondantly onward.
The security guard that marches.

The old corner where I sat.
The old lunchroom where I ate.
The old friend still in cell.
The old warden that I hate.

Inside the air is stagnant and shines in the blinding light,
etched into memory forever,
in a prison I visit every night.

Every inmate is silent.
I ask for directions to leave.
Just blank stares and faces.
Resigned to staring at the floor.

Wandering solomnly as it grows more dim and grey.
I didn't commit the crimes that put me here but that won't lessen my stay.
I plead with the men to help me escape.
So I shamble further into the maze with no end in sight.
The walls echo off my cries.
Until I wake in the middle of the night.

I like the vivid imagery of a mental prison. I think most people, at some point in their lives, can relate.