by Marc Gunn, 2005

Too many years I've sat in my dungeon alone.
The walls closing around me to swallow me whole.
There's no sunray shining in through these deep walls.
The air gets thinner as time creeps along.

Yet it's funny how many other prisoners survive.
Chained to their chairs living their life.
Are their fingers not going numb like mine?
Or have their eyes adjusted to the minimal light?

I hear the tapping in the adjacent cell.
It's obvious he's occupied by the infernal smell.
But for me my nose bleeds in dismay
as my mind wanders to the light of day.

Is there a field of wildflowers calling for me
to come play in the grass beneath sun and trees?
I think I can hear a cat saying, “Come play”,
but once again I tell her, “Tomorrow, not today.”

But each today is yesterday's unhappy tomorrow,
and another year passes the walls shiver in sorrow.
But down the corridors I hear the keys start to shake.
My freedom is upon me. At last, I can wake.

Background

I just found this poem buried on my computer while deleting files. Thought it was worth sharing though I don't remember anything about it.