Flesh in Chains Poem by Edwin Cordero
Flesh in chains—
Are you kidding me?
Is this a game?
It has to be.
Perhaps some sort of sadomasochistic flame
That extinguishes itself with enough pain?
It's as a picture,
Yet I'm lost in the frame.
Some coarse, mystic scripture
That has me wandering and wondering
If this is the correct way
To handle those deranged,
If our methods are, in fact,
I'm tied to this;
I can't redo it.
We're lost in
A lethal influence.
These dog chains rattle
I'm losing my mettle,
Where's my endurance?
Our hearts beat faster in this tense spot.
Our minds' schemes fasten up to rot.
Is this a dream?
How unreal it seems
To be jotted under their Heaven's gleam.
There's no light—I find only artificial cold.
Their money might buy nice houses as you get old,
As your soul is sold,
As you're as an Eskimo,
As you betray your people.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(01 January 1950)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Easter Eggley, John Hegley
- A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Death is Nothing at All, Henry Scott Holland
- Dulce et Decorum Est, Wilfred Owen
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost