(Poem) Thursday Night Coming

Note:  This piece was partially inspired by the song, “Johnny Cash – San Quentin”.     

htn0l9osl88-robert-hickerson

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)

 

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