• I mourn with anguish in the depths of this hallow –
    To find my soul wasting away; face sallow,
    In fear through the night for my life’s divine judgment –
    Basking in solitude of this country’s liberal pungent.

    For why do I sit in a place of false hope –?
    When Reality’s grasp is as sleek as fine soap,
    Shall I wait forever in this place of lamenting –
    For this oblique verdict of perpetual pending?

    I carve on the walls my soul’s great sorrow –
    Wondering when it will end: Today or Tomorrow?
    How I long for the console of my dear and tender –
    But, alas! I wait in fear for a wishful splendor.

    I must wait here in this place of eminent mooring –
    Chained with fetters of woe and brooding,
    Here I’ll wait, measuring time with sand –
    And here I’ll carve the words: Devil’s Island.