there are bars on my window
where once there was just glass:
at regular intervals i hear the feet
of the duty guard as they pass.
i can identify each
by distinctive tread;
i can only see a body
never feet or head.
i watch them all the time
but they never seem to look at me;
their presence important to my day
while i to them are a soon cease to be.
every day i hear marching
sometimes screams of those they take.
then shots and dreadful silence
and i imagine that execution stake.
i watch the world through my barred glass
at least that little bit in my sight
until i see the shadows lengthen
and day slips inexorably into night,
grateful
that once more
no squad appeared
at my door.
then i make my devotions;
there's always time to pray
and give my humble thanks
for surviving one more day.
