Aug. 21, 2013

Civil Rights Dreams in Prison

by Luis D. Perez (author's profile)


From: Luis D. Perez (July 15, 2013)


The silent art of poetry
the passion of fire,
frustration and loneliness
mirrors reflecting the
barbed wire and fences in the
back ground.

My sovereign spirit is
dreaming in prison
thoughts often infected
by other thoughts and ideas
that wake me up at night.

It was dark in the cell,
I went to while it was
raining, suddenly
I found myself walking
down for chow.

I walked inside the kitchen,
the whole blood stream filled
when I saw, Gentiles, Christians,
Catholics, and Muslins, eating
at the same table.

The prison guards call for
re-enforcement, it was
like a midnight rain on the
North Pole, or a nightmare
on the rain. Who can tell if
it was poison through broken walls.

I keep walking toward my table and
I pinch myself, it has to be a dream.
people from different nations;
Bloods, Netas, Crips, Familia, Kings
and Skin Heads were eating at the same table.

At my table, I found people
from Boston and Springfield
eating with respect,
it was a mixed-up subculture.

I walk out of the kitchen and
I saw the younger brothers
walking around without
having their ass hanging
out their pants.

I hear screaming very loud
I open my eyes to the
dim-light and notice
it was a dream.
another count time,
I try to recapture the dream,
but I go through the pain
of knowing that the dream
was over.

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