Homework September: An Unenlightened Time
Posted: Sat Aug 31, 2019 2:18 pm
An Unenlightened Time
A strange hypnotic somnolence has overwhelmed my brain;
I welcome this and yearn for sleep, afraid I’ll go insane.
I’m much in need of sustenance, but no-one gives a damn—
as far as they’re concerned I’m just a sick, immoral man
who fell beneath the influence of one who lit my days
with laughter, hope and honest love, in countless little ways.
Sweet charity I never see from those whose help I’ve sought—
appeals for shorter sentence met with laughter from the court.
I’m shunned by all who knew me and reviled by many more,
while pleas for mercy go unheard - I’m merely shown the door.
I sit here like a moulded sculpture, nothing left to prove—
no further wish for action now, since statues never move.
The Artist of the Law has cast my heart in rigid stone;
the System’s turned its back on me, I’m left to grieve alone
for all I’ve lost and all I am, through no real fault of mine—
it seems the joke’s on me because, as many now opine,
in years to come my so-called crime will not be viewed as sin,
and love will be the only word that permeates within.
But now it’s nineteen-fifty, so I’m cursed and branded ‘queer’
and cell-mates taunt and spit on me whenever I draw near.
How little do they understand, these grim-faced, hardened blokes
who ruthlessly attack for fun and burn me with their smokes!
In isolation now, inert and numb I wait and pray
that future generations know a more enlightened day.
© Catherine Lee, Aug 2019
A strange hypnotic somnolence has overwhelmed my brain;
I welcome this and yearn for sleep, afraid I’ll go insane.
I’m much in need of sustenance, but no-one gives a damn—
as far as they’re concerned I’m just a sick, immoral man
who fell beneath the influence of one who lit my days
with laughter, hope and honest love, in countless little ways.
Sweet charity I never see from those whose help I’ve sought—
appeals for shorter sentence met with laughter from the court.
I’m shunned by all who knew me and reviled by many more,
while pleas for mercy go unheard - I’m merely shown the door.
I sit here like a moulded sculpture, nothing left to prove—
no further wish for action now, since statues never move.
The Artist of the Law has cast my heart in rigid stone;
the System’s turned its back on me, I’m left to grieve alone
for all I’ve lost and all I am, through no real fault of mine—
it seems the joke’s on me because, as many now opine,
in years to come my so-called crime will not be viewed as sin,
and love will be the only word that permeates within.
But now it’s nineteen-fifty, so I’m cursed and branded ‘queer’
and cell-mates taunt and spit on me whenever I draw near.
How little do they understand, these grim-faced, hardened blokes
who ruthlessly attack for fun and burn me with their smokes!
In isolation now, inert and numb I wait and pray
that future generations know a more enlightened day.
© Catherine Lee, Aug 2019