The Prisoner

The innocent prisoner
Sits on his bare mattress on its stark metal frame
Alone, watching the dust swirl and settle
And it reminds him of home.

The innocent prisoner
Sees a ray of light shining through the window
Creating a sliver of light on the cold stone floor
Just like on his wooden floor at home.

He begs, he pleads,
He cries alone in his cell
He roars his outrage at the injustice that he has been served
To no avail.

He melts to the ground,
Unable to accept the finality of his fate
For fear that the finality will only come about
By his acceptance.

But in his heart he knows
That the matter is not in his hands
That home is a thing of the past
That he’d best forget about.
So he gets up;
This is home now.