Monotony In Monochrome Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Man's mortal coil as Alcatraz
unwinds as time destroys
free guarantees of razzmatazz
immortality enjoys.

For one day they both fall to dust,
clay's memory bluff bait,
tale failed bewailed by few who must
themselves disintegrate.

Monotony in monochrome
dismisses clear solutions
from fear they'll fail, dream honeycomb
falls dull on bees-waxed ear.

Day from dark gray to darker barred
dips down, blood mud that night
pumps plainly through veined veil to guard
from suicidal plight.

Clouds shadow crowds unjustly scarred
by concrete stark and gray
who sunless day, night moonless, hard
bed, board, crime's time must pay.

Days drip away, dank grayness marred
by no hope glaring bright,
Nine feet by nine for six foot card
from freedom severed quite.

Grim fortress background represents
chained mortal body's weight
awaiting fickle sickle, hence
harsh, unrelenting fate.

As dust suspended, life ill-starred
backdropped by grey wave foam,
heart's island pump thumps heavy, tarred,
deprived of azure dome.

Time blindly blinks on wishing star
whose wink, ironic, fades,
faith's phantom wraith so far, too far,
hides behind iron shades.

Deep frozen tears from paradise
expelled find slight relief
in scant survival's living lies
doors locked on all but grief.

Grey cells more grey cells reproduce,
room, body, brain, and blood,
while haemoglobin's iron noose
nips hope's spring in the bud.

Incarceration draws a blank
across whatever's screen,
enshrouds in clouds, wreaths thankless plank
from which steep dive is seen
to set scene tissue to ignore
all issues save but one
which saves not, grave schemes may implore,
cards stacked, play's distance run.

Drab uniformity of view
stretch etches second-thoughts,
impressions damp, dank curlicue
around ground zero fraught.

Prospects, perceptions no relief
take time to integrate,
energies fizzle, shouldered reef
no joys anticipate.

Regrets lethargic, unconvinced,
reflect no protest pale,
all colour drained for thrice re-rinsed
through mangle's 'none prevail'.

Response half-hearted raises head
then turns the other cheek
upon some bare board trestle bed,
forgetting how to speak.

Conclusions on time's washing line
flap uselessly forgotten,
hung after-taste lies wasted whine
fall ends weal, Zeitspiel rotten.