The Dour Dungeon (A First-Hand Account) Poem by Michael Fischer

I.

O what did I do to deserve this fate,
this bloody awful fate? Blasted,
I must escape...I may be helpless,
but I’m certainly not hopeless!
I will survive...and I will come out
twice the man I used to be!

II.

I’m slowly decaying...decaying away!
But I cling on to my hope; although,
I must confess, my hope is dwindling.
I’ve become scraggy, ill-feed, cold,
and dehydrated. But I must survive...
(coughs violently) ...I must.

III.

O death, sweet death, take me away
from my physical hellfire; I can’t...
I can’t strive to survive any longer;
nor can I live in fear of you any longer!
I’m ready! I’m ready to submit to my
unknowingness of you! I’m ready!