Saturday, March 3, 2012

Blood Inside My Hands By Ben Ditmars

Blood inside my hands
Cries out for its brothers
On the outside looking in
Through pores like glass
But really prison bars
Dividing comfort from
Uncertainty, the haves
From the have-nots.
Fresh droplets red
Instead of blue;
Oxygen choked out
By atmosphere so cruel
But not unyielding if
You have the bones and
Strength of noble birth.


  1. Maybe the prospect of blood brothers is not quite as cosy as it seems..not quite the escape from prison..inside or out..that you hope for..strong bones will see 'you' through..great write..Jae

    1. Thanks, Jae :) Always an honor having you read.