I see the wings of birds slice the air
they glide so gracefully, knowing no end.
Free to go from place to place
to see a new country, a new body of water,
to see a new face.
If I had wings, I would fly until I tired:
away and away like a bullet that’s been fired.
Instead, I sit, encased by concrete and steel,
Knowing these thoughts can only be dreams,
Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.