I am that place

I am that place of king and common man where we equally stand

when judged to be the wrong and bad.

My walls will you in pen and bounding bind.

I am the place where brick and stone and iron cold and mortar poured

wire razors, steel in bars that serve no juice save for the just to quench.

I have corridors with brutes and thugs with keys and duties and responsibilities.

I am that place where walls soak tears and drink the fears of victims.

With my confines I tear the souls of victim makers they the ones, possession takers. Them that con and lie and violate the space and right of others, bring them here. I am the care communities neglect.

From afar my dress of rendered impressions testify to power

that beneath my gates they cower. They lower gazes, shuffling uneasily

muttering “but for graces, there go I”.

They cross themselves and tip the rims of caps and hats as though coffins decked in blooms glide by. The death is died.

The key is turned the watchers duties are relaxed. For here I move with the times and integrate the new, the news for yiou to watch and be aware of.

The modern day deterrents that your legislators peddle, promising a better place for all the havers and the keepers of the keys and the door peepers, who will spy with digital eyes hiding in the corners. Looking down upon us like the brother’s older hand on a shoulder to steady the swaying.

I am the place they think of as their rod that does protect and does contain and does detain and does cause pain and spirits drain and again and again and again. Recidivisms rythems as they come and go and come. As I am here and they are gone, I am the standing on the time I steal form lives for deeds and crimes.

I am the edifices of might and power wielded for the right.

I am the rooms that keep you in, not letting out, not setting free.

I am built on the ideas of bringing bad to good and right of wrong. I am the dichotomy of moral and decency. Humilities lay in the foundations capping and the plaques hung in memory and honour to the moralisers shields of state and countries.

Crests on on caps and breasts and epaulettes guarding. They pretend, for in the end I am their protection and their detention is the fears that make then chain and cage and hold and bind and seal in tombs of tragedy.

I am this place of men. I am this place of them that never will my halls grace

and never in this place of incarceration stand accused for their sins.

Their sins, those sins that are greater than the crimes of the desperate and the fraught, beating the paves to my gates with their deeds.

Them seeking novel ways in to serve and burden themselves with punishments, for your equitable distribution of justice.

I exert your right to draw satisfactions from the blight of miseducations in the ghetto and enclaves of the poor challenged by a lack coin.

No community support structures. Only me and more places like me and with money agreed behaviours deemed appropriate as retribution and payment for infractions.

So those that come before me remember, that I am no roads termination.

I am a place, a space outside, protecting, inside the precious that will saviours serve upon return.

When bricks in walls and halls will tumble, cruelties and terrors crushed

beneath the rubbles of quaking earths.

I am firm and standing strong and proud, but I am by the hand of man made and subject to the natural law and rule that nothing and nowhere is forever.