The Doom Dungeon Poem by LIGHTCHEERFUL BRIGGS

The Doom Dungeon



From the merciless hands of the rulers to the ruled,
The wind of oppression blow stilly into flesh and bones
So many the minds of plebeians quailed out;
Thus no hope in their faith and amidst many I the orator,
And fears from my eyes like a woman's to fellow plebeians.

In the darkest expires many air in speechless state of mind
But the system is called the freedom of people, by the people and for the people
Yet they keep watch o'er us fierce remote animals in attempt of our freedom,
And I the press given to the freedom of oppression, death and doom.

In speechless will I never expire like fellow plebs,
And not even the zombies will I fear and be speechless.
I speak freedom, equity, fairness against oppression, death and doom;
And unto the dungeon they transited me with their remote machinery
As they could not put out the fire of life in me;
And with their merciless power has dug dungeon for my freedom;

With no one whom I could communicate my thoughts to,
And no one to sympathize with my state of suffering.
But as the day passes, familiar became I with the narrow limit
Which my wandering had been confined,
Alas, bitterly I felt the state of my captivity.
O freedom! O freedom! O freedom! Thou art not as press dreams;
Woe to the hands that dug this doom dungeon.

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