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