Prisoner X

Concrete cell,

alone in this freezing hell.

Two hours before the stroke of death,

my life is running out like wine before my eyes. Convicted of murder,

two thousand years past,

I watch the ghosts on these walls.

Colorless odor from my last meal,

barren beads of fear clutch my lips.

A tremor of words,

a scramble of keys,

my heart believes in reprisal for the innocent.

Sour hate has made  martyrs of you and me,

sickened wisdom executes our earth bodies,

not our souls.

A priest shrouded in blackish light,

burdened with guilt,

comes froth to me.

He comes to listen to my confession,

he comes to confess  to me.

A last breath,

 a last word for me as an hour dies,

warm waters await for me in heaven as my lungs exhale the last vows.

Soft breezes cloaks my honor as shackles bound me to this earth,

truth becomes a twisted vice from the mouths of witnesses.

Evidence found is tainted,

hands of the poor turn as money ease their strain Did I commit the heinous crime?

The gates to hell open with a singing quality.

Sweet or sour?

I walked this earth with passion and now I see the errors of judgment from both man and the Gods.

How can perfection come from something that it is not perfect itself?

Minutes  are smoke on a cigarette as the grim hallway leads to my destiny,