Justice – Incarcerated cheer

A sometimes sad reflection of the time I spent working as a teacher and administrator in a maximum security prison.

As he looks ’round his room once more,
he wonders what he’s living for.
His recent life has little cheer.
He asks himself: Why am I here?
Each day’s the same, from early morn.
He thinks again: Why was I born?
And late at night with lights down low,
he prays to God to let him go.

His life, was it always like this?
There must have been some days of bliss.
But what or when and how or where?
He doesn’t know; his brain won’t share.
His mem’ries are ethereal things,
like butterflies’ transparent wings.
He can’t recall, it’s now too late,
fried brain cells can’t regenerate.

The time he spent with kids and wife
are long forgot, wiped from his life.
So too, the times he slept outdoors
or served his country, fighting wars.
He wonders why his bed is here
inside a bathroom. That seems queer!
Yet there’s the shower, and there’s the loo,
And there’s a jug and tellie too.

He shakes his head and wonders why
the window’s barred and set so high.
He’s tried the door a hundred times
but it stays locked – against his crimes!
Now fog lifts slowly from his brain
And lets some mem’ries in again.
He’s locked in jail, he can’t be free
He doesn’t fit society.

Their threats to take his love from him,
gave birth to beast and actions grim.
In drug-fuelled rage he killed and maimed,
then prayed for death, but life remained.
He must not die; his guilt is clear.
So patch him up, let justice cheer.
Just lock him up for ever more
And ask not what he’s living for.

© Marty Langenberg 2019