Through the iron bars I can see
That tall and sturdy oak tree.
Though these bars are rusted
And my cellmate untrusted,
That tree stands tall and mean
In that wild field of green.
A remembrance to men like me
That at one point we were free.
Tall and sturdy, green and rooted
Till one day to jail we were booted.
For a crime I of course did not cause.
That’s what everyone says to cover flaws.
That jury convicted- full of ghosts
Practically sending me to the host of hosts.
Good as dead I tell you, in this box
I get one pair of shoes, two pair socks.
Three set of jumpers, indoors and out.
One for cleaning, but they ain’t using Shout.
You called me lunatic, unworthy, and killer.
You turned that true in this house of stone pillar.
I fight to survive, I have no choice, I slash.
Thrown to solitary, for my visions to mash.
They merge with reality, what is true?
Am I what they say? This killer created by you?
There is one constant I can rely on in general pop.
It’s that oak, and Lord I pray they never chop.
It is my only glimpse of freedom from here
That I can dream, and someday not fear.
Till then I sit and watch the leaves change
While I hope that I myself may rearrange.
I watch that sturdy oak tree
Through iron bars it is all I see.
It stands tall and mean
In that wild field of green.
When I leave this place in pine box,
Lay me under the tree, in my dirty socks.
I want to know what you, the reader, thinks. Consider leaving a comment and I will reply!
Primitive Poetry 
I like this very much, it’s good to see rhyme being utilised, which to my mind has been largely shunned for being ‘too quaint’, or ‘too traditional’! If so, I strongly disagree, especially as it works well as in your poem. I also like the idea of solace in nature, a single oak tree. I will share this. Thank you.
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I’ve noticed that rhyme has been disappearing from a lot of “high poetry.” I actually relate better to hip-hop better because of this, because the word play in rap today is so intricate and impressive. Most poets now try to paint images, and often fail because there is no flow in their poetry.
I should, however, be cautious of my critique. My blog is called primitive poetry for a reason. I am far from being a pro, I simply write my heart onto the page and enjoy some good wordplay.
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