Prisoner Of Were (Pow) Poem by Arthor Journer

The shackles bind my legs to yesteryear
And my eyes constantly go to the back of my head
Thus down my back to my butt run the tears
As they reminisce over things once done and said
Dwelling on memories and not what is or shall be
My mind wonders endlessly to what was
As the ship is cast eternally to the remembered seed
As heart and mind contemplate the path the clock loves
Photo albums and dreams of my journey loom
And wishes that the yesterdays would come back
As evidenced by all the antiques that decorate my room
And the ancient clothes that are hung on my rack
Prison bars separate me from the journey through
But the time machine only exists deep within my mind
Transported by things that ignite the deja vu
And unite me with the past’s sobering chimes
Battles won and victories lost in my history
Tales of blissful woo and stories of dire pain
Frame this picture that has become me
And has me bound by mental chains
But my steps can no longer be traced
There is no path that leads to yesterdays
Like footprints in the sand have been erased
By the perpetual motion of the ocean’s waves