A jailed Bird

A jailed bird 

Each night is for Me, a stress and strain 

And each day, is like a tempest, please! 

Write my story in a poem or 

Prose, 

Or in haiku, but anyway, write it's thought.

Provoking, a harmful psych-emotional assault, 

A  disdain, that over years; I do sustain.

Should I' shun My holy faith? to displease? 

My Lord, the inventer of unseens who knows--

Things at My home; though-a bit off, 

'Talk in low tune ' My hearld, there are Owls, 

Left to right, more racist, last night, 

They threw hungry rats on my roommate--

And bats in My cell, to make me terricfic sick, 

My hips and ribs, have burns of cigrattes, 

Hurted my elbow, then wrecked my eyeglass, 

By hit and kics, they hooked Me into dire fate--

Wait for a while and behold:   'food-stuffs-expiry-date' 

I don't like to tell you more, 

My harric scene, 

That would probably demoralise you, 

My host, I pray! you'll never see this disdain....