A dank and airless hole,
That's where I have been thrust,
Just because I stole
A measly, mouldy crust.
No food my lips had passed,
For not one day, but two.
Without food I couldn't last
Another hour through.
But those who are well fed,
Whose cup's full to the brim,
Just sneered at me and said,
Imprison him!
Now in this prison cell,
Away from freedom thrust,
Is made my own small hell,
Just for a mouldy crust.
It's hard to imagine how someone could be imprisoned for taking stale bread or anything else(stale)for that matter,but prisons are filled with people who committed "minor offenses"just so(they)or their family could have one more meal.
A sad but very true poem,but I did enjoy reading it nonetheless.
Barbara Henry
~a fellow human and poet, -Zach
Thanks for the reminder, of the good live really we have. Nicely penned.
Sue