AP Success - AP English Literature: The Prisoner's Song

       *     *           *     *           The

third            arrow flew

upward                      and stuck           we rode back

sun birds                        bedeviled            the

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great stem         its reflected

words                fast thunder           hills         a

molten                        mass         small clouds

of stones                        green rushes

waylaid                       spirits onto         lava beds

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post removed                stone broken

face turned             down         to earth           *

*           *    *    I dropped out    the little hangnail

blanket of a                       door            sun

strapped          to my back    so everyone could feel    I

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was sinking           *    *           *    *    I dried out

woke up    sprouted wings                and flew away

*    *                        Looking Glass is dead

The circular blue paper is the sky                      We

see some green spots which are pleasing

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Are the commissioners clear as I am?                      I

gave them a blue flag which they pretended to cherish

I live in hopes I do not have two hearts

The Illinois River will rise                      A single

warrior to write beyond without me

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Death at the hands of the long guns                      Did

I say death? Or the springs are drying up?

Find the break where blood runs clear

Through the love you bear your gallant little band

*    *             “Not to reverse history              but

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to draw out the strength” *      Write in the corridor  to

be no speaking  Sing in the hall  to be no dancing  Cry in

the street  to be no leading  Break into the house  to be no

sleeping  Feel in the closet  to be no running  Fight in the

dome  to be no screaming  Lie down in the dark  to be no

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changing           *    *     Are the commissioners clear as

I am? The dampness of night pierces my shield. Two dead men

push a stick through my buttonhole. The sun looks down on me

as complete. I want you to look and smile — red with iron

black. With all of my heart I thank my black-robed friends

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for their kindness. Columns of steel rise. I was glad to

hear the black robes had given you this shimmer of elongated

nights, left to waver in the void. They know how to die in

battle. They are a twist in the black mirror, that river

between the city and the mist. We will produce no sane men

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again. They come back different and the same. They roam over

hills and plains and wish the heavens would fall. You issued

the first soldiers and we only answered back, seeking air. I

have sent many words that were drowned along the way. The

wind is full of bottles and the air aggressive, a red

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feather placed into black hair.