What If The Lights Never Come Back On? Poem by Ted Sheridan

deep into the dark distant
forgotten regions of one's soul
the jailer walked indolently
with polished keys jangling
and promising food for thought
that all had not been lost
as for far too long
had his heart been cold
but.......
...the dampness
drip by tedious drip
had composed it's solemn
and mildewed symphony of malaise
complete with death's overture
and encores were but conformation
that all was lost for good

the jailer passed
by in allegiant myopia
as he completes the necessary rounds
before he can again take rest
on his all but infernal fundament
.....for in this place of eternal night
he is but a feudal tenant himself
struggling
to make sense
of what keeps him here
while others like him
have seen the light

....yet like the prisoner
he too commits himself to the dark
distant regions of the Beelzebub's Bastille
when one name alone
......................would set all people free for eternity