Walking home
Last day of school
Never saw it coming
Out of the blue
White van on the corner
Idling away
Windows vacated
No one to stay
Or so I thought
As I walked past
The door flew open
Electrically fast.
They jumped out in hordes
One, two and three,
Running madly
To catch up with me
I’d always thought I was fast
But tonight
No sir
Not tonight
The van smelled like grease
Oil and sweat
Two of them stayed
At their ready
For my absolute best
I tried as I could
But to no avail
Strength overwhelming
Darkness forthcoming
Stifled my wail
When I had awakened
Conquered the night
The sun had arisen
But had hidden its light
Stormclouds converged
Outside my prison
Cold rain was falling
Thundercrack
Thundercrack
Dizzied by electricity
Night had retaken
What was rightfully his
Nowhere to be seen
Were the three
The ones who deliver it
Where were they?
Who were they?
So many questions.
So few answers.
So much fear.
Nothing to end it.
My father the Fed
Came home late that night
Found a note on his porch
I was nowhere in sight
He read it twice
Or so I’m told
They’ve never been known
For their truth-telling skills
Something I’d learn
Soon
Very soon
Twenty-four hours
They didn’t need to say
He knew that
All too well
At the FBI
They train them
Honestly
Very well
They began their search
Within the hour
Found the van
Parked and unpowered
Gas tank emptied
Battery gone
Tiremarks disappeared
In the light of the dawn
Throughout the day
They searched without fruit
Their pain and their labor
And less than a hoot
My father looked up
And read the note thrice
He prayed to our god
The end would be nice
My captors arrived
Without their syringes
I was united
Released
Into their scrap yard
Broken paper and plastic
Littered the ground
Marks of blood
Stained the grass
God help me I thought
But they did nothing
Stood and watched
Observed
Took note
Strangely expressive
Oddly serene
I had suspicion
There was more at stake
Than money
Something more important
Than millions
Written in newspaper
Slipped under a door
“What is this?”
I finally asked
Standing before them
The wind whipping my hair
The rain pouring down
Once again
The stormclouds blanking the sun
Drenched as they were
They stood firm
Unmoving
Smiles faint
Eyes searching
I knew
Strangely
They were as lost as I
The FBI searched
My father at point
Their hunting
To no end
Evidence eluding
These men were good
The van was swept clean
All traces erased
Darkness closed in
They called it a night
All but my father
Who read the note
Once
And prayed once again
Now, twice
“What do you want?”
I asked once again
“Our demand to be answered.”
They replied
Shortly
Sharply
Warningly
But I wouldn’t listen
“And that demand was?”
“Only for the FBI.”
Their reply
Eerie
Mystifying
It was drawing me in
Slowly but surely
Like a quick catfish
On the end of a line
“Why only for them?”
“Why can’t I know?”
“Classified.”
They said
Sarcasm noted
Anger present
In both factions
I began to heat up
Fury erupting
“TELL ME!”
“Why?”
“I want to know!”
“Why?”
“I can help…”
It came out quickly
Sounding foreign to my ears
They had abducted me
Drugged me
Imprisoned me
And yet
I was offering my help
My assistance
To be free, but still…
Why?
Was it a reflex?
Or something more
Was it the truth?
By god
I think it was
The next day arose
My father before
Out in the field
In the dark of the morning
The FBI continued
Their search unsuccessful
They thought I was dead
Two days had passed
They knew I was dead
All but my father
Who refused to believe?
That one career screw-up
Could result in this
A life of pain
A day of agony
Why?
How did it happen?
Originally
And now
Why had he done
What he had done
Why had they done
What they had done
Why had it come to this?
To something so atrocious
To uncover a secret
A simple
Terrible
Secret
One that should
In a rightful world
Have never been kept
Why?
“Tell me!”
I yelled yet again
They still remained silent
Infuriating
Aggravating
It was the third day
In the spectral yard
The morning sun
Had not yet awoken
The grass was chilled
The dew unbroken
They were breaking
I could tell
They wanted to answer
They had no idea how
I asked once again
Sure this would be the time
“Why are you keeping me?”
What note did they sign?
Written in their fugitive fingerprints
What were their demands?
So important as to be kept secret
From the one person
Who could never reveal
Again and again
I tried and I begged
I no longer cared
About being kept
Knowing
More important
Than freedom
Knowing
Was
Freedom
“We need to give in.”
My father said
The director sneered
Hidden but visible
“A fiasco.”
He replied
“Is that what you want?”
“I want my child back.”
My father responded
“And they want theirs.”
“They’re terrorists!”
“People.”
The director
Aghast
Stood in his seat
“I can’t believe this!”
“You want to give them!”
“The people who wish us dead!”
“Just what they want!”
“How do you know?”
My father began
Angrily vehement
“How do you know?”
“Suspicions are all you have.”
“Error of circumstance.”
“And corrupted ideals.”
“You have no case.”
“To hold your own prisoner.”
“You have no right.”
“To hold them there.”
“You have no case.”
“To keep them.”
“While a nation rests.”
“Unaware.”
“I will not have this!”
The director roared
Spittle flying from his enraged lips
“They all want us dead!”
“Why can’t you see that!”
“We are trying to stay alive!”
“WHY CAN’T YOU SEE THAT!”
“I can’t see.”
“Because it doesn’t exist.”
My father retorted
Coolly and chillily
“It’s a fantasy.”
“Of you’re overexcited mind.”
“Punch-drunk.”
“Trigger-happy.”
“By god, you shouldn’t be in charge of a landfill.”
“You can’t make decisions.”
“You can’t make them right.”
“Holy shit director.”
“When did you not learn?”
“That you can’t judge a book by its cover?”
“You’re fired you bastard!”
“I hope that you’ll see.”
“They’ll kill all of us before you scare me!”
“Give me your gun.”
“Give me your badge.”
“Get the hell out.”
“Before I escort you myself.”
I yelled yet again
They still remained silent
Infuriating
Aggravating
It was the third day
In the spectral yard
The morning sun
Had not yet awoken
The grass was chilled
The dew unbroken
They were breaking
I could tell
They wanted to answer
They had no idea how
I asked once again
Sure this would be the time
“Why are you keeping me?”
What note did they sign?
Written in their fugitive fingerprints
What were their demands?
So important as to be kept secret
From the one person
Who could never reveal
Again and again
I tried and I begged
I no longer cared
About being kept
Knowing
More important
Than freedom
Knowing
Was
Freedom
“We need to give in.”
My father said
The director sneered
Hidden but visible
“A fiasco.”
He replied
“Is that what you want?”
“I want my child back.”
My father responded
“And they want theirs.”
“They’re terrorists!”
“People.”
The director
Aghast
Stood in his seat
“I can’t believe this!”
“You want to give them!”
“The people who wish us dead!”
“Just what they want!”
“How do you know?”
My father began
Angrily vehement
“How do you know?”
“Suspicions are all you have.”
“Error of circumstance.”
“And corrupted ideals.”
“You have no case.”
“To hold your own prisoner.”
“You have no right.”
“To hold them there.”
“You have no case.”
“To keep them.”
“While a nation rests.”
“Unaware.”
“I will not have this!”
The director roared
Spittle flying from his enraged lips
“They all want us dead!”
“Why can’t you see that!”
“We are trying to stay alive!”
“WHY CAN’T YOU SEE THAT!”
“I can’t see.”
“Because it doesn’t exist.”
My father retorted
Coolly and chillily
“It’s a fantasy.”
“Of you’re overexcited mind.”
“Punch-drunk.”
“Trigger-happy.”
“By god, you shouldn’t be in charge of a landfill.”
“You can’t make decisions.”
“You can’t make them right.”
“Holy shit director.”
“When did you not learn?”
“That you can’t judge a book by its cover?”
“You’re fired you bastard!”
“I hope that you’ll see.”
“They’ll kill all of us before you scare me!”
“Give me your gun.”
“Give me your badge.”
“Get the hell out.”
“Before I escort you myself.”
My father rushed out
But not to his home
The Company
Headquartered
Right around the corner
That’s where he went
His reputation at stake
For his only child
And for what was right
And there he spoke
As the cameras reeled
To an entire nation
About ideals
About what had transpired
Nightly news
Electrified
America
Shocked into disbelief
The director’s minority
Shaking their heads
Pitying the soul
Who couldn’t see
The conspiracy
Surrounding him
But he cared nothing for them
The racists
The doubters
He just wanted me back
As did some others
They finally broke
After hours of asking
They had no idea
I could be so persistent
But I had no idea
How they could cope
Those three were brothers
American-born
America-raised
A foursome of Iraqis
In downtown DC
But the fourth had been taken
At the same age as I
By the organization
Of my father
By my father
And for the sake
Imagined safe
Of peace
I felt disgusted
Completely unhinged
How could this happen?
Here in the free world?
Oppression had roots
But had never ingrained
Now though it seemed
It was firmly entrenched
Never to be released
Anger filled me
Not at my captors
But at my country
How could they do this?
How could it be?
Freedom was advertised
Wasn’t that why they came?
But was that a lie?
How much was a lie?
The nightly news
Seen through the nation
People enraged
Disquieted
Throwing their reservations away
The next morning the masses arrived
Outside the offices of the FBI
Screaming
Yelling
Roaring
For a pair of releases
For the release of their own
And the release of the others
The police stood by
Not knowing what to do
Afraid of the hell
Of breaking the gathering
This is America
And we say we have rights
Perhaps they’re right
And perhaps that helped
Because three hours later
After his hurried resignation
The director of the Bureau
Released his prisoner to the streets
I said goodbye
As the four drove away
Never to appear again
They had received what they needed
Their brother returned
Innocent of all crimes
Falsely accused
Falsely imprisoned
On charges of looking wrong
Standing wrong
Being wrong
Of
According to the organization
Not belonging
My father stood beside me
And watched them go
His feelings strange
Conflicted
He’d helped them
After they’d hurt him
But still
No regrets
Only a strange feeling of thanks
Now we walk up the steps
Our drones close behind
They would follow us for good
Through the trial for treason
My father wants a jury
But even a judge
I think
Will see
Treason is betrayal
We redeemed
Treason is disloyalty
To your country
We were loyal
To our beliefs
And though changed in a heartbeat
Of barely three days
Those beliefs stand firm
On one side made of bonding
The other side of breaking
Stockholm Syndrome
Cycling through
For me it was formed
For my father
Broken
All I know now is
There are three less prisoners in the world
But not to his home
The Company
Headquartered
Right around the corner
That’s where he went
His reputation at stake
For his only child
And for what was right
And there he spoke
As the cameras reeled
To an entire nation
About ideals
About what had transpired
Nightly news
Electrified
America
Shocked into disbelief
The director’s minority
Shaking their heads
Pitying the soul
Who couldn’t see
The conspiracy
Surrounding him
But he cared nothing for them
The racists
The doubters
He just wanted me back
As did some others
They finally broke
After hours of asking
They had no idea
I could be so persistent
But I had no idea
How they could cope
Those three were brothers
American-born
America-raised
A foursome of Iraqis
In downtown DC
But the fourth had been taken
At the same age as I
By the organization
Of my father
By my father
And for the sake
Imagined safe
Of peace
I felt disgusted
Completely unhinged
How could this happen?
Here in the free world?
Oppression had roots
But had never ingrained
Now though it seemed
It was firmly entrenched
Never to be released
Anger filled me
Not at my captors
But at my country
How could they do this?
How could it be?
Freedom was advertised
Wasn’t that why they came?
But was that a lie?
How much was a lie?
The nightly news
Seen through the nation
People enraged
Disquieted
Throwing their reservations away
The next morning the masses arrived
Outside the offices of the FBI
Screaming
Yelling
Roaring
For a pair of releases
For the release of their own
And the release of the others
The police stood by
Not knowing what to do
Afraid of the hell
Of breaking the gathering
This is America
And we say we have rights
Perhaps they’re right
And perhaps that helped
Because three hours later
After his hurried resignation
The director of the Bureau
Released his prisoner to the streets
I said goodbye
As the four drove away
Never to appear again
They had received what they needed
Their brother returned
Innocent of all crimes
Falsely accused
Falsely imprisoned
On charges of looking wrong
Standing wrong
Being wrong
Of
According to the organization
Not belonging
My father stood beside me
And watched them go
His feelings strange
Conflicted
He’d helped them
After they’d hurt him
But still
No regrets
Only a strange feeling of thanks
Now we walk up the steps
Our drones close behind
They would follow us for good
Through the trial for treason
My father wants a jury
But even a judge
I think
Will see
Treason is betrayal
We redeemed
Treason is disloyalty
To your country
We were loyal
To our beliefs
And though changed in a heartbeat
Of barely three days
Those beliefs stand firm
On one side made of bonding
The other side of breaking
Stockholm Syndrome
Cycling through
For me it was formed
For my father
Broken
All I know now is
There are three less prisoners in the world
Overall great job and whether you want to believe it or not, you are a good poet. There are some forums here that can show you how to write different kinds if you're interested. They're a great help. Great job! 