Poetry from the Heart of Darkness

ALL POETRY © SEAN MULLIGAN. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 

The prisoner waits alone in his cell.
A wan light filters through the cell's
two clouded windows,
displaying amorphous shadows
of the world beyond,
gnawing futilely on the edges
of the pervasive gloom.
He presses against the wall,
straining to hear the muffled sounds,
the voices of those without,
to feel the faint residual warmth
of sunlight shining upon the outside layers.
A steady stream of incoherence
buzzes along a net of tangled wires.
The monotonous throb of a distant engine
forces unclean fluids through
conduits deep within the walls.
He knows that soon They will come again.
They will lash him relentlessly
with memories of
loneliness, indifference and abandonment,
disillusionment, guilt and despair.
They will lay into him
until his last ounce of resistance is exhausted,
the agony reaches fever pitch and
the roiling waves of sensation crash down upon
a blank expanse of numbing white.
They will leave him
a crumpled abject heap
in a cold dark corner.
He knows not when he came here,
 or from where.
He knows not what crimes
 he has committed
nor the length of his sentence.
He knows not his ultimate fate.
The prisoner waits alone in his cell.

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