Brittle Prison - Poem by jane heart
mired and alone, with grime and
below the wall
a pit congealed
with a passive past.
Tear the crack apart...
better blown than repaired
better dead than just spared
better moaning silently
than waving the red, bright flare.
Her cocoon is her prison.
Her bubble is a glass cell...
Her poverty binds each arm
into salamied knots
of ire and despair.
Rank tears burn in the falanges
Beware this acid trap.
Comments about Brittle Prison by jane heart
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You