Colin F. Jones

POW

~ 1 ~

Her face becomes strangely vague,
Love is a long lost dream,
The places that were wondrous,
Are now of tedious scene.
So often I’ve remembered
That these thoughts are now unreal
Tormenting migraines in my head,
Is all my mind can justly feel.
I have become part of the routine,
By hunger and fear designed,
That what I am I do not know,
In this emptiness ill defined
Nor where it is that I will go
When death to me is kind.

~ 2 ~

In the darkness of one’s own despair,
That takes your loveliness from me,
There are but miseries dwelling there,
For ‘tis only ugliness that I see.
For yet my freedom so long denied,
Has in the tedium of times event,
To my dulled memory been deprived,
That minute to minute each day is spent.
Humiliated imprisoned and enslaved,
Tortured by mockery and pain,
Festering helpless dreams once craved
Now distorted in my guilt and shame.
For none of it is real to me…
What my mind cannot retain.