Note: This piece was partially inspired by the song, “Johnny Cash – San Quentin”.
Thursday Night Coming Down
(My Poem About Prison)
-How could there be protection
from gazing into the heartless brick’s square?
-Pieces of my being are stolen by its complexion.
-Each gray block issues a soulless stare.
-It’s one I can’t hope to compare.
-Outside an approaching storm boast its flicker,
and every flicker is trailed by a roar that buries me.
-It’s thunderous resemblance to the gavel make the humidity thicker.
-The shadows given off, although they’re brief, examine me carefully.
-Repetition is the bars’ affliction most severe to me.
-Redundant nights are either heads buried in hands, or prayers on one knee.
-When did insanity become the wages of rehabilitation?
-It’s only he who is without sin who may cast the first stone
and rob me from all stimulation.
-To this animal warehouse, I’m a pitiful patron.
-Your tongue is made muzzled,
-Your pride is made shot between the eyes.
-They make you not to question so you remain puzzled
and easy prey to the lies.
-Depriving a man from solitude with his thoughts
is not admitted to their conscience.
-But, it surely is a crime.
-They cursed me with a cellmate that leaves my head and stomach in knots.
-His wild rambling and rouge tangents wake me time and time.
-Remorse for my crimes is considered, at best, void.
-Forgiveness makes the average man annoyed.
-No fiber to nourish me plagues me with hemorrhoids.
-How could one’s humanity and honor not feel toyed?
-Why send a fragile psyche to the slaughter,
and then shove Christianity and Islam down our throats with no, in a manner bearing no spiritual wealth?
-How can we appreciate His living water
without first learning to think for one’s self?
-The storm’s luscious drops began their unison fall.
-Their individual impacts form one roars, but their tiny explosions I can’t feel ‘tal.
-I feel only the fine mist that flows through the bars,
similar to the blood spray of this afternoon’s brawl.
-The Riot’s Squad is the bomb that exterminates the city.
-Between the innocent and instigators, they possess no pity.
-There’s either a dent in your skull or the thud of the black bull.
-I gnash my teeth to a surface–so gritty.
-Your desire should be Thursday nights to collapse on you.
-Beg for the torrent to flood you and for a bolt to clap you, too.
-For, their collaboration is just.
-Watch my endurance of their union.
-Your teaching of appreciation is a total must.
-Not just in these walls do they pursue men.
-What good do they think these walls really do?
-Do they honestly think I’ll be plenty different when they’re through?
-But, this night’s union makes me pray for the judges that wildly waves their gavel.
-For, He protects my psyche.
-It’s one that man will toll to unravel.
-I forgive the concrete and gravel that led my hand, here.
-There is no curse to the racist cop that lusted for my cage
and their pervese lust for fear.
-To a world never to be reached one again, I’ve banished my rage.
-No matter the torment or toll, only perfect nature may withstand the Judgment Crown.
-My self-examination can never be pillaged, and you can never bear Thursday night coming down.
courtesy of ” krosseel” at http://www.morguefile.com)