Many have died there.
Silent screams echo throughout the deserted corridors,
the blood stained walls whitewashed.
Scarred walls tell the stories.
The stories of pain and hurt.
The stories that tell of dark times.
Times when tears, and screams
of anger and hurt,
seems all that is known.
Distorted nails scrape the walls,
and claw at the bars.
Once strong men resemble skeletons,
as they waste away,
paying for the crimes they comitted,
with no one willing to omit it or forgive.
The guard strolls down the dark corridors;
his face set hard;
his heart as cold as the walls and cells themself.
He is indifferent to what occurs
within the prison walls.
He holds the key,
to the condemned men's freedom...
but does nothing.
He walks on,
ignoring the pain.
Slowly, but surely,
the prisoners succumb to the merciless prison.
The walls bear the scars.
The floor is stained with their blood.
The bars bear scratches.
The corridors remain dark.
The prison lies empty,
but the memories of its inhabitants remain.
The guard still strolls the lonely prisons,
the innermost parts still desolate and painful.
He has become like those he refused to free...
Soon...he too, will waste away.
The walls will bear the pain he inflicted.
Darkness will countinue to inhabit the place.