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By: Amelia Wills

About The Poem

The poem is about a man who has been convicted for an offence he hasn’t even committed, which has led him to spend 14 years in the prison. While being in the prison, he often hallucinates of good times. In that course of time, all unknown to him, his father dies and his mother gets paralysed.

The Poem

Reality doesn’t seem plausible but it’s isn’t a dream because it wrenches my heart and takes it
for a dive in the somberness of my gleam.
I walk to the little laughter but thrash the walls.
The muse comes to me a little late than every previous day, we giggle, it’s feeble, the essence
isn’t real.
Perhaps these walls are psychedelics or I am going mad slowly. The madness is my medicine, it
makes the walls hazy. The madness clings to my laughter as a remedy to my misery.
I sleep to the eternal mellow song of reality which intensifies my melancholia and abases my
I dream of a hastened death, that will be my luxury.
Eighteen and thirty two make fourteen, I have spent an eternity, the walls ooze out the poison,
making me die slowly.
I am a convalescent of tomorrow, my past was glorious and in the moment I am dying slowly.
I don’t want to be saved, the time didn’t anchor for me and now I don’t want to wait for the
future that will be thanking today for preparing me.
There isn’t much to share because I saw a little beyond these bland walls of justice but took in a
lot to suffer the pain, I am unknown to the subtle embrace.
Living long is a treasure, a trove of reminiscent pleasure but I have less to recall and much to hail
about to the lord.
Is it a trial or a test?
I have introspected over the last eighteen years of freedom and haven’t sinned since fourteen.
I don’t search impunity.
I kept on crying, It isn’t me.
Life fled and walls told me the stories of mistaken identity.
I don’t seek vengeance but justice from the surety. Years taught a tale of good that I shouldn’t
seek the non-existent anymore.
Primordial were the days of my seeking freedom from the anguish.
Now within these walls I languish.
I seek wisdom, so I dare not to hope.
Act isn’t done so I don’t seek amnesty.
I don’t look for nuances anymore.
When I drown, walls tell me I haven’t hit the ground. I become wiser with every float.They have
seen the worst with better and I was just another, not new or younger.
I wry about the family, my father in the mud, my mother in the bed and I within the walls
laughing over the fate.
I am pure as a snowflake.
Death, now hurry to me.
Take me with yourself and give me the promised peace.

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