The Cost of Rising

There is supposed to be a way out,
an open horizon,
hope

for escape from this beautiful prison.
But
the roof has closed in,
and the windows mock you,

unaware
the only way out
is through their soon-to-be

broken
glass.

About this poem

Many of us are in beautiful prisons. Some of us die there. Some of us escape. But escape is never without pain.

The picture was taken at the U. S. Marine Corps museum in Quantico, Va.

Tom