Behind Bars Poem by welkin siskin

And there a man is dragged, perfectly true, feeling, and yet, panicking, to a bar behind.
Even if, with all their intellects, they find him innocent.
And there, behind the bars, he
smells the wall of mushrooms, carries an acrid sense of pain.
There is no joy in his eyes;
his heart stops in the cell of imperfection.
Imagine the unimaginable,
He is a witness of what has not been seen,
Imagine what is not shown.
And think what is unthinkable,
the diary of his untrue self.
@ Welkin Siskin