the warden disturbed

the desolate halls

long with slick linoleum

feet rapping

on stained porcelain

guards  orderlies   wardens

barking out philosophies

spewing doctrines

the cheerless air rank with poison

just outside the window

a rose bud bloomed

a witness to the resurrection sprinting from the tomb

running faster then words hurling color through gloom

like the kiss of a lover departing too soon

like the promise of a poet who crept behind the veil

the fragrance prophesied to those who died

with dreams denied

and hope confined inside the wicked will

of the abuser and abused

while darkness walked the halls

locked the doors

and madness ensued

the warden speaks-

“who told the convicts they could write on my walls?

who gave them bread to eat with their filthy paws?

who cracked the window to shed light on their ill-formed thoughts?

and that loathsome smell

putrid and rotten as the dawn

of sweet summer pedals stretching as they yawn

spreading their infernal hope

on the desperate and forlorn!”

the warden is angry

he walks the halls

the warden is death

he walks them all

the warden is god

but not god of all

the world is dark

but not for long

a riot erupts amongst the inmates

sparked by a burgeoning thought

dancing on gangplanks

the soul is not alone

the spirit not forsaken

a rushing wind

sweeps the halls

instant clamor amongst the guards

orders issued

to stamp out the upstart garden beyond the bars

what was once a rouse

inflicting despair into their hearts

has invigorated the worthless

prisoners of war

the warden in his dark wisdom

first concocted the garden

intending to harden

whatever shreds of humanity remained

in the crestfallen men enslaved

to the stockades

they were to see

with lackluster eyes

the goodness beyond their grasp

and each day wallow in the melancholy

and infinite sadness

backpedaling incrementally

toward the abyss

from which

no sound is heard

but the flames hiss

and the cracking of whips

myriads fell

impossible now to recount

but on that day

the unguarded fragrance

worked its way

through the interlocking maze

of hallways

arousing the hearts of the inmates

awake   awake

there is life outside this place

your charges are dropped

your sentence erased

no one in this world can prevent your escape

the warden is angry

he walks the halls

the warden is death

he walks them all

the warden is god

but not god of all

the world is dark

but not for long

the warden enflamed in unearthly form

conjures the wind

dispelling the fragrance from his halls

the remaining prisoners stand upon a precipices

unable to negotiate the abyss

weary eyes spy a skylark aloft

effortless his wings carry him across

lifting their arms holding their breath

they abandon convention

brazen and reckless

they step on to air   to relax on a moment

unleashing the faith which will drown their opponents

a stern wind issuing from the halls of linoleum

propels their fainting frames forward

the aromatic spirit stirs their senses

the delightful ammonia enraptures the prisoners

death the debt    beauty the ransom

on the far side of the abyss

they awaken

looking back across the abyss

shadowy figures darkness and mist

no signs of life

just the warden and the prison that is all his

the warden is angry

he walks the halls

the warden is death

he walks them all

the warden is god

but not god of all

the world is dark

but not for long.

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