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By Danny Joe Stites
Drip…drip…tink. Drip. Tang… Muffled voices, shuffling footsteps, hollow slamming echoes,”BOOM, Boom, boom”, drip…drip…
Stuck in this box, cold and alone, day after day, in this Hell of my own. Four walls and a ceiling, with a floor made of stone, its my whole world, this cell I call home.
I have scars on my ankles, and stabs in my back, a face full of wrinkles, and a heart that’s turned black. You see prison is more than, just fences or walls, its the chains on my love, whenever night falls. The real torture begins, whenever my eyes close, that’s when you creep in, with memory’s ghosts.
Whistling winds, soft whispered words, the images go flashing, and my world turns to hurt. The sweet smell of grass, of warm supple fields, where once our time passed, when our defenses had yield. Young summer scents, and the way that you felt, your trembling body, in these arms you were held.
No one around us, no distance between, two lovers together, a perfect love scene. Sunny blue skies, crickets and birds, expressing our love, never once using words. Your hot sultry looks, by a trickling stream, like an ancient love book, then I awake to a scream!!!
Drip…drip…tink. Drip. Tang. I awake in a box, cold and alone, its a new day, in this Hell of my own. Staring at walls and a ceiling, made of white stone, this is my world, this cell I call HOME…
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