I sit alone in the darkness,

tossed in without a prompt

by those damned judges

in their fine black robes.

Fettered to the wall,

all I hear is the swish

as the pendulum drops.

Panic sets in as time ticks away.

Confusion clouds my brain.

I am in the depths of despair.

Crying, pleading, shrieking, flailing,

until I realize by the stench that

others have been here before me.

I grope the littered floor for any

scrap of paper and writing utensil.

My hand stumbles onto a stub of a pencil

and a crumpled piece of paper.

The swishing sound of the pendulum

increases,

and I can feel the breeze it creates.

I scribble faster trying to scrawl

a couplet containing a coherent thought.

As the blade brushes my shoulder,

Poem #1 falls

unfinished

from my hand

lost forever

before I could even begin.