Prison bars. <br />A child played a game. <br />Taking an old lattice from the garden, <br />she placed it in front of her open door, <br />and held it in place with her hands. <br />She gripped and shook the bars <br />and pleaded for a pardon, <br />pretending she was a prisoner. <br /> <br />Prison bars. <br />In the name of freedom, <br />a dissenter defied a tyrant. <br />He hid in a ship <br />bound for the United States, <br />as he fled for his life. <br />Beside the Golden Door <br />he was branded an illegal immigrant. <br />Despair was rife in his soul, <br />for now he was a prisoner. <br /> <br />Prison bars. <br />And what of my prison bars? <br />They are not made of steel <br />like those that shattered a hero's heart. <br />Held in place by me, <br />mine are like the child's it seems. <br />The bars are forged <br />of fear, routine and security, <br />yet are strong enough to hold me <br />captive from my dreams. <br />Please say a prayer for this <br />most pitiful of prisoners!<br /><br />Mary Naylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prison-bars/
