Conversations echo down a hallway
and extend into a dark winter evening.
The cadence of footsteps drift slowly
as they fade into oblivion.As I momentarily stare through
a painted window, my reflection stares
at me. Streams of light shine
from a ceiling and vents whistle
in baritone.
and extend into a dark winter evening.
The cadence of footsteps drift slowly
as they fade into oblivion.As I momentarily stare through
a painted window, my reflection stares
at me. Streams of light shine
from a ceiling and vents whistle
in baritone.
Unfamiliar pages lay across
a flat thin mattress and even the tiny ridges
on the wall beg for freedom.
This poem was written while incarcerated at EOCI.
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