Information Withholding

A short poem about a man being tortured

All alone in my cell,
Listen to that infernal bell,
The rats and maggots know;
That bell sounds my woe

Listen, they come running
Not a sign of their cunning
But their training was thorough
So into my skin they burrow.

The pain levels, quite amazing
Chlorine added, the pain is blazing
Then the questions pester
No giving in, I play the jester.

“Sir, what a wondrous scratch
your pets are like a nettles patch,
Hitting all the right places,
Leaving no itchy traces”

As this answer fails to satisfy,
The heated metal they apply.
Jobe’s pain I am learning,
Yet my soul still enduring.

But as all is fleeting,
The pain is completing,
Soon the whistle may blow,
Sign for rats and heat to go.

I’m left a moments peace
And remember a great feast.
To be the guest is ideal,
But instead I am the meal

I lie, still recovering,
New strength I am discovering,
But will it hold me next time?
Or is next my turn to chime?
         
All alone in my cell,
Listen to that infernal bell,
The rats and maggots know;
That bell sounds my woe