The Siren's Song Poem by Ryan Webb

Doors- run through the doors.
The shape of age is not
Hate- the great escape,
So strange, the mouth will gape.

Walls- they hold you in;
Your face will age and rot.
Shame- the bed you've made,
So vague, the sand parade.

Cursed- you all are cursed
To stay within these walls.
Pain- a mindless state,
They made the jacket straight.

Take the time- commit the crime;
Unaware of precautions they will take.
Above the jail- the sirens wail,
Casting a shadow on all those who lie awake.