'To Sheila'

From inside, looking out, I feel a distance, wanna shout. . . . It's confusing . . . Never amusing I don't belong here, there's no doubt. Hour follows hour, day upon day, I'm still wondering - of what, do I pay? . . . Pulling inside . . . Just wanna hide Thoughts matter not; even less, what I say. I do this, I do that; I come and I go, But there is no freedom, that I feel or know. . . . Understanding fear . . . Just want outta here The time stretches forward, ever so slow. I once had a face, even knew my own name, Now I look around, and we all look the same. . . . Hopeless feelings . . . Staring at ceilings Over and over, it's a monotonous game. Try as I might, to pick up the pace, I'm still surrounded by dark, inner space. . . . She's driving . . . Now arriving There is my light . . . It's on Sheila's face.From my cell, I could see through a far distant window, the prison entrance where all vehicles had to enter through for weekend inmate visits. This poem was written while waiting for the very first visit from Sheila. As I penciled the last stanza, I looked up to see my car - and her - drive into the entrance. She was more inspiration . . . at that moment.. than a Properly Cooked T-Bone steak could be to a starved man in prison. (smiles) Written July 28th, 1995 © on Nov 13 2001 12:12 PM PST   18 • 0 • 12