Flies

Flies, a cloud.
Spiralling down to an iron cell.
Far from life, a compact hell.
A single breath of hope dies,
and becomes flies.
The window shows green,
a lost scene beyond the glass.
Peace long past
seen from this concrete cell,
this tomb, a compact hell.
A single breath of hope dies,
and become flies,
a cloud.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.