The Prisoner

In shackles he slumped

Against the cold damp walls

His gaze lost in the distance

As a spider crawled across its web

In a corner  of the ceiling

His clothes were tattered and worn out

Covered in dust and soot

His nails were bitten and his hair overgrown

His skin clung to his bones

Not a speck of light illuminated

The dungeon – his new home

And cried he from time to time

‘These walls close upon me!”

Yet no one was there to hear him

For they all had long gone

And he lay starv’d and ever thirsty

His chapped lips cracked

And his mouth dry

His brow was pale

White like the moon

Cast upon by the shadows

And knew he not of night nor day

As he lay by himself

For he was confined

Confined in solitude

And slumped against the walls

He sighed monotonously as closed he his eyes

For the final time

As the spider made its web

Creeping silently

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