I have lost my dexterous hands, <br />My impenetrable iron eyes, <br />And the harried sly of my smile, <br />For all superfluous shards of heaven <br />Encapsulated in an esoteric creed <br />Of vying regardless; a hunger <br />For vindication in its uttermost <br />Despicable context, more apt <br />A regardless vying; <br />When I woke up garroted <br />By the juxtaposed malaise in my bed <br />That I am a tatterdemalion maudlin <br />Incarcerated by the mendacity <br />Of false-hopes and sedative truths <br />And seized by the sleeper cell <br />Of the all-pervading pervert: <br />Harsh veracity, I knew I am <br />Forever and alone; <br />A precarious curse of solitariness <br />And there is no reservation <br />For recuperation, for convalesce <br />I lost everything I had <br />When I had realized, <br />I never had at all.<br /><br />Norman Santos<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/incarceration-3/
