A Dungeon Hell
By: Wayne Brown
Slamming doors echo off stone walls in this dungeon keep
Ten years I have here survived on bread, water, and sleep
My captors put me in chains and hammered them in stone
Days and night spent here, ten years spent all alone
My clothes are rags and I reek of my own hideous smells
There are no baths or earthly pleasures in this living hell
Little light makes its way to the darkness of my confines
Leaking water runs down the walls tracing its wet lines
Mold grows on the walls and floor in a dank prison den
The vermin runs about freely stealing from those within
Myself and a hand full of others chained in our cells
All enemies of the state awaiting our death fate to tell
Our numbers dwindle as the guards march them off
‘Off with his head’ are the words the guards scoff
They leave with a man; return with his bloody head
Then parade it about keeping our deepest fears fed
We are weak and undernourished; unable to resist
Ever doomed to this dungeon of dark to die like this
One day the guards will come to the door of my cell
An executioner’s axe will free me from this dark hell
Our captors are evil men with hearts that are black
Stealing from the peasants, their gold coins they stack
Those who resist them will soon come here one day
To be thrown in a dungeon cell to rot here away
I hear the footsteps as they walk down the halls
They echo with each step off these dank prison walls
Two guards march toward the door of my cell
I’m off to the executioner to be free of this hell
The executioner’s axe will fall just after sunrise
A swing of the sharp blade and off my head flies
Only a pauper grave awaits; no marker, no casket
My head carried about in a guard’s woven-basket
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