THE PRISONER

In dungeon dank
A prisoner moans,
Around his feet
Lie scattered bones.

A feeble light
Drips past the bars,
Upon his back
Are ugly scars.

His wrists are gripped
By rusting chains,
The walls run wet
Each time it rains.

A bloodied rag
Tied round his head
The stinking straw's
His only bed.

Festering sores
Crowd arms and legs
For death's release
His god he begs.

His body's waste
Fouls ground and air,
How many days
Has he lain there?

For weeks or months
He cannot tell,
His world's become
This noisome cell.

What was the crime
That brought him here,
What wicked deed
Brings death so near.

Alas for him
To wed he'd planned,
The love of he
Who rules this land.

An evil man
Of evil mind,
There's no one else
Of equal kind.

When hearing he
The lovers' plan,
He moved at once
To trap the man.

The girl he used
His trap to bait,
She lured him then
Within his gate.

He cast his net
And caught his prey,
The girl was spared
But sent away.

The man was dragged
To this dark spot,
First tortured long
Then left to rot.

So now he waits
In this foul room,
For his foul lord
To seal his doom.

He hopes, he prays
For death's release
For only then
Can he find peace.

In dungeon dank
The prisoner moans,
One day to join
The scattered bones.

COPYRIGHT D M PAMMENT 2009