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The immense and silent stone sentinels loom and stare,

out of hundreds of blood red reflections in glass squares,

sun sinks low as the city goes belly up into the dark,

like a dead fish floating on the stagnant pond in the park,

exposing it’s soft white flesh to the swarming flies,

where the hot pipe cracks in the echo of the hookers cries,

the coarse flanks of the sentinels create a tepid warren,

smell of trash and dog shit where the zombies try to score in,

under the damp dim street lights or sodium glare,

once upon a time there were stars up there,

fire up the ovens in the heat of another holocaust,

souls are burned, buried, and all sense of hope is lost,

the cracked pavement damp with blood, semen, or worse,

as a nun sinks to her bleeding knees muttering a curse,

the alleys breathe by night what is hidden in the day,

and still the looming sentinels have nothing to say.

There is nothing that these prison walls have left to offer me. As I have spent eleven long and tedious years under their scrutiny during my incarceration I have lost many family and friends to death. Their final regards being sent with their last gathered breath. Others have moved far away to take a chance on a new life. Uprooted from their communities were both children and wife. And, so it has gone that I have done most of my time alone. Hundreds of people to play cards with though nobody phone at one point I had become bored even with my writing going to quite well. Then the next thing I knew I was put into a prison – rehab cell. Fourteen hours a day were filled with confusing rules and routine. It took me several months to figure out what it really did mean. I was informed that the rules were to break me of my negative ways. So I crammed and I studied them all the rest of my days. In some of the meetings I related my long and pent up grief. Thus making it easier to turn over a new leaf. I sat and I listened as others told stories of their disastrous lives. The loss of their children and separation from wives. I pondered long and hard before making my final choice. It was time that the world got to hear my voice. I looked hard to find my areas that I needed attention. And, also dug out harmful thoughts that needed prevention. In time I gained an entirely different way of thinking. Gone were the old routines of spending long hours each day drinking and the mornings waking up with pounding headaches and bloodshot eyes. The new days were to be much brighter, happier, with clear skies. I had been through a process of molding my thinking habits and more it allowed my vision to see that this would be my last prison tour. I wouldn’t ever again be forced to live another man in a tiny cell or have to breathe the stench that is a prisons’ well known smell or drink water from decaying pipes long unfit for human consumption or eat food I am told is beef, atleast by the cooks assumption. No more nights laying on a plate-steel bunk wondering if I’ll get any mail. Staying out of prison is something at which I cannot afford to fail. I am learning all of the tools I will need to live my life in sobriety. While making a place for myself in a sane and rational society. Through the years that I have been sitting around in prison. Short-term and long-term goals have both fallen and risen. Today, I am not into making plans for a long and eventful life. I’ll just take one day at a time and see if I can find a good wife. All of the aches and pains that fill me will never miss this place. I could never come back here again because it would be an unbearable disgrace.

 

Yes sir! July 1st. Because I’m sick of the town I live in, and I’m sick of Maine and I’m sick of the people who are bugging me. I’m just sick of it, so. I’ll be staying with my friend, hopefully. He’s down there.
Don’t ever give up on your dreams your hopes and your wishes. I’m jail free, living well (living better).I thought I was doomed by this depression, a lot of it post-prison-partum.
Hope and pray for me that I find my future and my purpose. That’s what I’m after.

Have no fear,
For all is well.
From outside in,
You cannot tell.
As I squirm within
This fractured shell,
Have no fear,
For all is well.

I was shocked, confused, bewildered
As I entered Heaven’s door,
Not by the beauty of it all,
Nor the lights or its decor.

But it was the folks in Heaven
Who made me sputter and gasp –
The thieves, the liars, the sinners,
The alcoholics, and the trash.

There stood the kid from seventh grade,
Who swiped  my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
Who never said anything nice.

Bob, who I always thought
Was rotting away in Hell
Was sitting pretty on cloud nine,
Looking incredibly well.

I nudged Jesus, “What’s the deal?
I would love to hear your take.
How’d all these sinners get up here?
God must’ve made a mistake.”

“And why is everyone quiet?
So somber – give me aclue.”
“Hush, child,” he said.
“They’re all in shock.
No one thought they’d be seeing you.”

JUDGE NOT!

Please remember –
just going to church doesn’t make you a Christian

any more than standing in your garage makes you a car.

Every saint has a past…
Every sinner has a future.
Now it’s your turn: share this poem.

– by Anonymous, posted by Rey

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Political Prisoners

Welcome to the blog from inmates of Maine's jails and prisons.

In collaboration with the Holistic Recovery Project, the Political Prisoners Blog provides a prisoner's view into what's happening at Maine's correctional facilities.

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