Curled on my bed
Hard, cold, damp
Concrete floor beneith
My aching slumped limps.
Head on the wall
Filthy moisture entangling
Down solid concrete
Walls of filth.
Looking out the window
One tiny crack of light
Sears my dank stupor
In two halves
Oh light of promise,
Light of splendour
Light that reminds me
Of where I am not.
If the walls come down
Would I be thankful?
Or is it something
I'm glad I forgot?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem