Unforgiven and gray, he sat alone;
Surrounded by sedge and a militia of mice,
In a dark dungeon corner.
He craved to breathe the whiff of independence.
But chained down, there he lay, to the anvil of peccadillo.
He was now a prisoner of consequence;
His offense was unpardonable
By his love who was bruised by his words.
Now the slip seemed completely irreversible;
The Fallen, he was in her sight;
Succumbed badly to the gravity of haze.
Yet he never lost his will to rise.
Capitol punishment or life imprisonment,
He didn’t really bother about the worldly verdict.
He died, when he learnt his love was misunderstood, that very moment.
But he awaits her presence, patiently, even today.
With undeterred hope, his eyes peer beyond the prison bars.
That she’ll absolve, and come to bail him out, someday.