Words From The Cell

Words FromThe Cell

My current employment is behind the walls with those who the courts have found guilty of crimes and their retribution includes years of their lives. They watch the free world daily, through the media and the behavior of those they come in contact with throughout their years of incarceration. Communication with them becomes inevitable. There are those who once their sentence begins who are taking the time not only to re-evaluate themselves but the free world in which they hope some day to return. The following poem contains topics discussed freely by many of the men behind the wall......

Words From The Cell

I took the opportunity to read the paper this week
No, seriously I read it from sheet to sheet.
Figured I would see what was happening in my home town
Figured I'd take a media glance since I can't go out,
ya' know roam around.
I listen to the news from time to time,
hear some of the cellies talking about back in the hood crimes.
Didn't need no names, faces of those that don't communicate
That's how it is when parole don't even have your date.
I shocked myself ready everyday from front to back
I was even more surprised when I thought,
damn everybody must be on crack.
The system is in place to do it's thing.
But the crimes of today, what the hell do they mean.
Never mind the murder, muggings and senseless killings,
smuggling, car theft and the usual drug dealings.
What's up with the gang banging, initiations and turf wars?
What's up with mothers and fathers offing each other, what is that for?
The kids that are being abused, used by adults,
they'll never survive mentally, always remembering how it felt.
The politicians can't shuffle the cards fast enough to give a raw deal,
boys they hired are pulling their plugs keeping it real.
Skeletons are falling out of closets, even those held most high.
What's up with the teachers, priests and rabbi's?
I'm reading this from a jail cell where I will probably live until I am old.
From this cell I can feel that the world has grown cold.
I cry at times when I think of the fate I chose in my youth, the decisions I made.
Losing my golden years in life is the price I paid.
But for you who are free, and choose what appears to be correct.
You live daily, trying to understand what man calls living perfect.
How perfect can it be with all your fears?
You check yourself and your neighbor daily, just as I do here.
Living not knowing whether the next confrontation may cost you your life.
Praying harder daily for your loved ones, husband and wife.
Wondering if your children took heed and listened to your word of wisdom.
You're living daily on edge, full of stress and unwanted criticism.
Yeah, I live here, it's obvious I have been deprived from day to day.
But you who are free what a price you pay!
If you educate your child you wil pay a kings fee
And that payment still don't guarantee they won't end up like me.
What about those seeking employment, the want, need, and desire for better jobs.
You get your pay only to find with the deductions you've been robbed.
Those who look, and talk like me,
those who are feared by the intellects, those who fulfill your society,
Have said lock us away and toss the key.
As I read the papers I wondered what is the new punishment to be.
Just a few words from my home this 6 x 9 concrete cell
You think you're living better,
after reading today's paper....I can't tell.

I've often asked my self are we, the free society, prisoners of our own environments.

Nanette M. Buchanan
Author, Quiet Times copyright 2008
See my blogs visit www.myspace.com/ipendesigns