Ante Merediem

Butterflies play in miniature

forests am I'mid o I'm ofgiant footsteps,

engulfed by the breeze

that is as faint as a fading promise

while on a tour to bid us farewell.

The needles of a distant conifer,

whisper among their acquaintances

as fresh dew glisten on vibrant

blades of grass while collecting

and sluggishly dripping to the

dark soil below.

A sea of gray hover at a

grueling pace while surrounded

by patches of blue. Fractured

streams of light, struggle to

break through while searching

for freedom.

More Disciplinary Segregation (Isolation 1-7)

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.

Unfamiliar pages lay across

a flat thin mattress and even the tiny ridges

on the wall beg for freedom.

It's Always About A Woman

Grandeur is more evident from your presence
in the midst of Autumn.
Many smiles have passed and their imprint
eternally occupy time and space.
Razor wire may serve as a barrier between
a caged bird and the sky
but my affection for you will never die.

Time and wealth may slip through my

fingers like grains of sand.

Yet, the dwindling is rarely noticed

unless meandering in limbo.

A volatile storm called passion may

come and go but the tail winds will

bring ease to the pain.

My heart is the only vessel that has been

enslaved. As I watched the pace of distant

traffic from a window etched in

more than just glass, I still

dream of you in thoughts of pleasure

and life is instantly grand.