uploaded Aug. 19, 2013.
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From: Luis D. Perez (July 15, 2013)
http/betweenthebars.org/blogs/350
*CIVIL RIGHTS DREAMS IN PRISON:
The silent art of poetry
the passion of fire,
frustration and loneliness
mirrors reflecting the
barbed wire and fences in the
back ground.
"I HAVE A DREAM"
My sovereign spirit is
dreaming in prison
thoughts often infected
by other thoughts and ideas
that wake me up at night.
"DREAMING IN PRISON"
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.
"IT IS A DREAM"
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.
"SUDDENLY"
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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