The Prisoner

I was deeply hurt

And extremely angry.

What he did to me

Had absolutely no good excuse,

No good reason,

No logic whatsoever.

It was purely selfish.

He surely didn’t think about

The pain and anguish he caused me.

And for those unspeakable crimes,

They locked him up.

But that was so long ago,

And now I’m being asked

To unlock that prison cell,

And give him freedom.

Freedom from what?

Freedom from my pain?

Freedom from the consequences?

Freedom from a guilty conscience?

Could he even possibly change?

And how is that justice,

When I still suffer?

I ask the Heavens to make possible

That thing I just cannot do.

How can I forgive

What I can never forget?

And so, with trembling steps,

And tears upon my cheeks,

I approach that cell

With the keys in my hands.

I look down at my shuffling feet,

The slow measured breaths,

Trying to calm myself down.

I insert that key

Into that elusive keyhole

That seems to defy entry.

I turn it with some effort,

And hear the click of the tumblers,

And the sliding of the bolt.

The door swings open.

I look inside to see my tormentor,

Expecting some acknowledgment

Of my sacrifice.

But instead I acknowledge

My own feelings,

And that ultimate sacrifice.

It is myself inside that cold cell.

I allow myself to leave,

To leave behind the darkness,

And the solitude of misery,

And to finally be free

To live again.

©️2022 John Markham