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Belfast Prison
The invisible pain of the tourist game
People visit but they feel no pain
they see the walls but not the stains.
The gun towers and wire have now alas all gone
except in the souls where the memory lives on.
♞♜♝
The once cruel facade now cannot be seen
hidden behind the tourist screen
A place of hardship for all it did keep
men, women and waifs off the street.
♞♜♝
My invisible thoughts hurt my mind
its fancy now, but is still unkind.
I see the ghosts at every turn,
the hate and violence once served upon.
♞♜♝
Warriors who once took up the fight imprisoned here
a brutal plight.
The hangman’s nooses hides behind bookcase door
a lever pulls a trapdoor floor.
No screws or police now with religious zeal
to enforce their will and make you yield.
♞♜♝
No longer confinement and liberty denied
they have turned it into a fun fair ride.
Just children and visitors who don’t understand,
a sectarian prison with a religious brand
♞♜♝
The painted walls cannot hide
the pain and suffering once served inside.
A secret tunnel runs under the road
dirty damp flagstones where you were once goaded.
♞♜♝
Prison officers like death camp guards,
no pity or compassion for your regard
Just doing their bit for a greedy pay,
harassing and mistreating you to fill their day
♞♜♝
A bigoted orange sectarian state,
rigged Diplock courts, prison, a nationalists fate.
Though for me my life has changed,
I’m still caught up in their justice game
♞♜♝
Only your body and time moves on, with a criminal tag,
your still frowned upon a prisoner until death behind these cold walls,
your invisible chains with its heavy steel ball
More visitor tourists taken for a ride,
who never see the Real prison inside.
⏩ Brendan Curran, Irish conflict poems 
2020
2020
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