Thursday, June 10, 2010

At the Time

Ironic it was,
The cruel drug which made him feel so good,
He thought it was a good idea,
As on the corner smoking he stood,
But things changed when he was caught,
Dragged to a cell,
He stood there lonely,
In that forgotten hell,
There in the dark he grew cold,
The dark closing around him,
Thinking about his past,
Realizing now his future looked so dim,
Behind those sturdy bars,
Slowly losing his grip,
He rocked back and forth,
As if on a stormy ship,
He was let out quite soon,
But the prison air would never leave him,
He would have to reform,
Though chances of that were ever so slim.

by Honolulu Joe

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Anonymous Anonymous said...

Honestly, this is terrible. The rhymes were forced and a few of the lines don't even make sense. The writer should attempt to use proper English before trying to write a poem. Shame to see trash published.

5:26 PM  

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