Fred B. Baker, II

I HOPE

I hope, my dear loved one
Life may treat you well
That you will never see
My little plot of hell
The need to keep it hidden
To others never tell
Or horrors that still visit
Of how the many fell
One by one they’re counted
By the ever ringing bell
The nightmares abruptly ended
With the too familiar yell
And yet they march again
Their ranks begin to swell
I can never stop them
Their purpose I cannot quell
The devil won’t entreat me
Bereft of soul to sell
Forever lost, forever alone
In my thoughts I dwell
A prisoner, an eternal inmate
My mind a torturous cell