Inmate Poems

TORN PHOTOS

Silence not often heard here,
in societies cattle pen.
Neighbors up coughing
toilets,
flushing throughout the night.
A constant buzz-
security lights.
A constant tension,
attributed
to sleep depravation.
The whirl of tattoo guns,
the acutely heard jingle-
“KEYS ON THE TEIR!”
The whirl dies away,
the tension remains.
Collective sighs
as they pass each cell.
No one wanting family photos
torn down today.
Men who stare evenly Deaths face,
look down
as the swine roll by.
Respect nor fear
the reason,
merely training.
To defiant a stare
becomes torn photos.
Boot prints upon sheets
ignored,
as we remake our beds.
Tired muscles scream
for relaxation,
they’ll continue to scream.
A lifetime “standing point”-
against the keys,
against the odds.
Size matters little
once shank has drank.
Everyone lonely,
now that we are alone.
Memories played like records,
only the favorites played aloud.
Sad songs sung solo,
So low only you can hear them.
Making light of dark situations,
’cause told in truth-
breaks Mama’s heart.
So laughs are given,
whether true or not.
This teardrop shed in ink
I share with you.
Think-
Think of tomorrow,
can you face it alone?
Think of your pain,
not that which you still feel-
but that of your victims.
You know them,
because they love you-
parents, brothers,
sisters and friends.
Many will fade as years go by,
have you the strength
to let them go?
And once you find yourself
by yourself-
have you the strength
to still stand strong?

Jeremiah Gilbert
DOC #709551

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