WE  SHUT

       the doors

                  of hope.

WE  LOCKED

      ourselves in,

              and now

                      we can't

                                get out.

                                  September 14, 1993

 

We're Prisoners

WE ARE
As babies crying
For mothers
Long dead.

WE ARE
As children crying
For fathers gone to graves.

WE ARE
The ghosts
Of dreams
That died.

WE ARE
The prisoners
Of our
Own  hands.

WE ARE
The killers
Of ourselves.

                                                  September 13, 1993

 

The Prison Yard:  Summer

We are as
clay pots
baked brittle
under summer's
burning sun.

Skin roasted red
darkening dark brown,
dry and stagnant,
and tired.

Empty shells of
men gone sour-
vacant vessels
devoid of soul.

The prison yard:
a desolate sea
of rejected humanity.

A place
filled with
lonely men.

                                                   September 14, 1993

 

The Angry Young Lions

The lions sit meekly in their cages
Held now in captivity after a
Lifetime spent hunting their  prey
In the jungles of concrete and glass
Wasting away the remainder of
Their days
Staring at the flourescent lightbulbs
in the ceiling.

Lion tamers, dozens of them,
Struting about with clubs,
Seeking to tame these wild beasts,
Fearful of being mauled
By their own charges.

Angry young lions,
Most in the prime of life,
Full of power and strength
Locked in a cage.

Angry
Hungry
Full of murderous rage,
Having to walk in single file
When once
They roamed free,
But without purpose.

Roaming the open roads
Preying upon others,
Others preying upon them,
In jungles full of concrete and glass,
Taking their freedom for granted.

But then capture!
Arrest and incarceration!

Now the lions sit in cages
One by one
Under the watchful eyes
Of their tamers,
Whose job it is
To re-orient
And re-educate
The beasts.

With force if necessary,
To teach them how to live
In the jungles
Without stalking and killing.
To live honestly
In a dishonest world.
To teach them principles
In a world where
Principles are non-existant.
And politicians steal,
And those with money
Can kill their prey
Without having to be stained
With it's blood.

Angry young lions
Bewildered and confused,
In a violent world. 
All their lives surviving by wit
And courage
And instinct,
Now  held captive
By those who fear them.

Yet waiting for the day
When the tamers must meet
And decide
And determine
That these lions
Are no longer dangerous.

That they no longer
Will seek live game,
But will gladly settle
For a bowl of lettuce.
And will willingly revert
To a passive existance
That is as alien to them
As the lives of their keepers.

 

 

Morning Song

In the early morning hours
Before the dew leaves the flowers
As mountain mists lift from the earth,
Before the dawn sun leaps from her berth-

A Path is now open for meditation,
Concentration, reflection, contemplation.

 

Before the birds rise from their nests,
It's the perfect time if one invests
In praising, prayer, and leaving
Behind all care and grieving.

 

From the pain of the world,
A world filled with dark despair,
Embroiled in hatred,
Bitterness and strife----
It will quickly end your life.

 

The early morn is best for me,
The fading stars and pale moon
Blend with the coming soon,
Of sun and birds and flowers-
The heat of long daylight hours.

 

You see, the dawn is really a time of rest
And one who understands this is truly blest.
In the quiet center of  one's mind
The voice of Jesus you will find.

 

An invitation from the Son
To walk with Him before the day's begun.
For what my Savior has in store
Is to help me, heal me, and so much more!

                                                                  January 3, 1991

 

Goodnight, My Son

A prisoner's thoughts about his little son
______________________________________

Goodnight, my son,
Goodnight, my son,
Have sweet and pleasant
Dreams.

A watchful eye I'll keep for thee,
Tho I'm far away, it seems

Goodnight, my son,
Goodnight, my son,
May serenity
Come to thee.

Many miles away,
I linger, thinking
Of you and me
Oh, if this could be...

I'd like to be free
One day, as free
As a bird in flight,
To hold  you, hug you,
Kiss your cheek,
And wish you a  pleasant
Goodnight!