Each dawn with tedious rhythm early breaks,
Same graying walls, relentless, dingy, old,
The keys on chains, the bars, the bare yard makes,
Each dweller in this dying land feel cold.
I pray, read books and study, talk with friends,
Walk thrice around the endless, dusty track,
My hopes, my dreams, have perfect happy ends,
For tattooed, angry throngs I watch my back.
The singing in our chapel behind bars,
A view of blue sky, clouds, a single gull,
And love words wrapped in letters from afar,
Conspire to make the dreary day less dull.
These prison walls don’t hold the strength to stay,
My love, my joy, my dreams, or block my way.
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