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William Sinclair Manson

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My-Poetry / Writings · 3 May 2017

My Poetry. A Prisoner in her own Home.

Colourful prisms of light
set free from blackened cracked glass
forcing the darkness to illuminate
Allowing the aroma of cut grass.
She never leaves her home
imprisoned within four walls
no one ever gets inside
Feeling bound by a chain and ball.
A woman who once held respect
heavily into charity by day
a pillar of the community
People listened to what she would say.
Many years passed in her life
tragedy struck many times
the family passed away, friends moved on
Her son sent down for crimes.
Now her life was empty
her interest declined by day
nothing would get through to her
At home, she was forced to stay.
Doctors tried in vain
to get her to leave her house
a frail, aged woman
As quiet as a mouse.
She felt she was misunderstood
no one knew how she was
her illness killing her at speed
her life was not in pause.
The fear to leave her house
finally, took its toll
her heart gave up the battle
The final drum roll.
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