Political Prisoner

My smiling eyes grow dim
As memories of sun:
In this walled winter
Day dawns stillborn.

Hopes fall, frosted fruit
To rot into doubt at my feet.

I turn my back on them.
Through the spy hole
Into the bleak
Bleached quiet
They speak. Each word
Clear and deceitful as ice
Settles on the road

I walk on
Towards our land's Freedom;
My last breath flies
Through the window's grid
On wings of print
To feed the storm
Rising