By Tiffin
© 1999 Tiffin, all rights reserved
Through the dark they ran
Hidden in shadows creeping, sprinting
Shackled by the night
Baleful wale of the hounds behind
Spotlight frantic over the ground
Searching for Six and Nine
Stench of fear soaks their clothes
Like animal crackers in dipped in milk
Soft, palpable holding their form
Guards yell "there, no over here"
Shotguns click, reclicked
Boots crunch marshy meadows
Labored breath, frothy steam
Six falls down snapped in two
A broken man, a dead man
Panic sizes Nine
Swifter than the wind
Running, leaping escape is near
Nails dig in mortared walls
Toes cling to tiny cracks
Pull, push to the top
He straddles the barb wire
Freedom in his outstretched hands
Just a twelve-foot drop to the ground below
Hours later the matted form discovered
Back of his head smashed against gray bricks
Bottom of his cuff pants impaled on a nail
Holding him prisoner once again