Prisons are cold, desperate places
Full of despair and desolate faces
Full of the lonely, full of the tough
Full of the children
Who weren't loved enough

It's easy to blame
To say they made choices
But many were made
Long before they had voices
And many were maimed in spirit and heart
Cornered and saddled
Before they could start

For some it may be the damage is done
The sort of deep damage
That can't be undone

But even those souls so wilfully lost
Who serve only self
Whatever the cost
Deserve only acts of compassion and kindness
For anything less
Is a pathway to blindness
And anything less than love as the vision
Makes for yourself
Your own kind of prison