Prisoner #841205 Poem by kyvin Nash

I was born in this jail
Except, I didn't do crime
In this kind of a cell
prisoners don't get time

My father was a good slave
Well I guess my mother as well
Here it is very stupid to be brave
One of the things taught by the wall

I was raised with no choice at all
Clearly this is my only heritage
Everywhere I look there's a wall, tall
White and heavily armed to intimidate

Ready to squash playing and giggling
Any funny sound is dead and silenced
Chains and tools never seize tingling
All jokes are whipped when glanced

There's no life here, that I can tell
We were only raised to be better tools
Not even by chance think to rebel
Lest you be sent to the burial of fools

This coming season is my turn, I reckon
I sense the bid on my head endeared
In fact I might even break the record
Wish on luck this road ahead be cleared

In case I push my luck and make a friend
In this enslaved lands days are uncertain
Look not forward to the other end
There's work and leashes can be tighten

The slave route is a dead evil hone
As to where to from here, I don't know
All I know is, I'm going to a new home
To a kind owner this quality I shall bestow

Only if I could be a person not just a prole
I was born for this, all my life I was told
They've beaten all the pain out of my soul
Compelling blows dealt me a lesson cold

Out here obedience is the only rule
Cross that line you won't see a day to rue