Will I ever smell the air after a rain,
Or feel the dew on the morning grass?
Will I ever hear a quidditch match being called,
Or see a broomstick again?
Will I ever taste a butterbeer,
Or travel to Hogsmeade?
Will I ever speak to Albus,
to tell him that it wasn't me?
Or does he know?
Know about Peter,
and who he hurt?
Who's lives he ruined?
Will I ever speak to Harry--
My Godson?
Will I ever escape
From this wretched place?
Azkaban--
A name that drives fear into the hearts of most,
And rightly so.
A place fit only for the dementors
That glide, silently
Sucking the emotion from the souls
of non-Death Eaters
And Death Eaters alike.
Will I ever stand on the other side
Of these steel bars--
Bars enchanted to be unbreakable?
Will I ever be free,
Free to do what I please,
When I please?
Will I ever escape?
Will I ever?
Disclaimer: Sirius Black, the alluded to narrator of this poem, Harry, Azkaban, the dementors, Death Eaters, Peter, Albus, butterbeer, quidditch and Hogsmeade all belong to Mrs. Joanne Kathleen Rowling and her publishers. No copyright infringement was intended, and if I did infringe upon the rights of the aformentioned parties I am sorry.