frances tallboy


The wind is howling my fears are real
my wounds are open and will not heal
The darkness of the blindfold smells
Of the squalid hovel that I dwell

My ankles shackled and the wounds are deep
But only can feel not see my wounds that seep
My tormentors will back to haunt my soul
As I lay in filth in this hell hole

Taken from the streets and bound and gagged
By my arms and legs pulled and dragged
Two months now of beatings and hell
No one can hear my cries or yells

Only inwardly I can hear my cries
No one comes as on the floor I lie
I hear them coming though my view is black
Because over my head I wear this sack

Now the time has come to die
Oh my god please hear my cries
Let my spirit be released and free
And my family be free to grieve

Poem Submitted: Friday, October 23, 2009

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