The Two Prisoners

               (I)

Gina was a good-time gal;

A real looker of a hooker if there ever was one:

Her creamy skin glowed in the city light,

And she'd show you a good time if the price was right.

                 (II)

Some hot-blooded, naïve boy

Thought he could love a woman like her.

He paid his money, and she broke his heart.

He lost his head over a smoky tart.

                  

                  (III)

Downtown, on one cold and windy Saturday night,

He lurked in the shadows, holding a knife.

Gina came walking by in her sexy coat,

Ran up behind her and he slit her throat.

                   (IV)

Now the rich pretty boy's in jail today,

With a sunken heart and head hung low.

Some fake good news to him I chime,

While I spend his daddy's cocaine money and bide my time.

                 (V)

No wants to lose the love they have

No one wants to feel what they really feel.

No one wants to see what they see.

It's better to be prisoner than to be set free.

             

                 (VI)
I had love once too:

Didn't kill her with a knife—

Didn't spite her when she went away,

But the memories haunt me to this day.

                (VII)

So, I paid my money, and I broke her heart:

Watched as our love crumbled piece-by-piece.

Career-driven, I stuck with my books

And never noticed the tears that stained her good looks.

             

             (VIII)

Years have gone by,

I sit alone with my filing cabinet full of horrors,

Sometimes with a sunken heart and my head hung low:

How I got so poisoned I guess I'll never know?

                 (IX)

At night, alone, I sigh her name,

A lone voice hits the dark ceiling.

No reply from the one I was so fond:

So I wake up alone to wade through the world's shallow pond.

                (X)

Me and the rich boy side-by-side:

I sit outside but so does he.

Both of us killed what we loved

Pushed what never should have been shoved.

                (XI)

No wants to lose the love they have.

No one wants to feel what they really feel.

No one wants to see what they see.

That's why it's better to be a prisoner than to be set free.

               (XII)

We want to see the world for what it's not.

Give me a shovel of sand to throw on your weary head.

Truth is around for all to see

But I'd rather be prisoner again than set free.

For this last blog posting, you are to write a brief analysis of this poem.  To do this, you must, in your own words, answer these two questions:  Is it easier to live a lie and be happy or is it better to face hard realities of life that plague us day-to-day? What is the main message of this poem?  From there, discuss some of the ethical components of this poem in relation to this poem.  Is there any justice, utility, or care going on here?  Please explain.  Best of luck on your final blog response.