Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Offended by his verse,
dark in darkness they came;
their thundering gun-butts and boot heels
unhinged the door to his dreams.

Painted flames blazed on the walls
of their scream-proof cell;
tortured fans groaned,
exhausting the stench of agony,
the reek of cigars they did not smoke.

Finely, they twisted pegs to tune his nerves,
then scratched out on those living strings
a shrieking music scored in hell.
For hour-long moments, for day-long hours,
his flesh and bones composed
a final masterpiece on pain--
in sounds that were not words.

Jim 2002

and it was all in the name of some "religious" (in quotes) eventual greater good, no doubt. fools.

It was politics ... he was a poet on the wrong side of the other side. A true poet of the Crystal Lute, Jim! Sue

You, Jim, are a wordsmith extraordinaire!

Excellent poem. Horrific topic. But it happens, doesn't it? People being punished for their thoughts?

"Finely, they twisted pegs to tune his nerves"

Gut wrenching deconstruction of soul.
Brutally good
H