mounded inside a stone-earth,
tears falling, each night i am boxed
inside a cage without freedom,
a grieving ocean flows along the painful
grounds of the eight years i have suffered,
my eyes close in around the four horrific
walls that crush me with their
this is when i find myself struggling in vain
but as a devoted writer, i get a great sense
of purpose, my being! though i’m enclosed
in stone’s perplexed space, when my pen
touches paper, it brings a high sense of
spirituality within me; i no longer feel pain,
my heart flutters free.
being a writer is my truth of existing,
a poetic state — a mind of tranquility.
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.