by Patricia Elaine Mason, CCWF
Flowers die, the wind blows the petals
I die and the seasons remain placid
I think about a slave ship
and I must be the only passenger
Waves of anguish hit, my body crumbling
by battery and cancer
Dust on a forgotten slate of statistics
Tears, snowflakes in dark morbid
concrete. Man made mansions of pain.
Prison variations of pleasure
the ill wind on the masts of my life.
I do not want to die in a sea of strangers
I’m supposed to be free
Malcolm X, Mandela, Huey P. Newton
I’m too poor to even fight for causes
The battle of skid row and
the war of confinement
Dust on life’s structure
and no one even knows me.
I’m the victim, the ugly blotch on society
I watch as the seasons change
The wind blows, age and time
The songs that replay as I sit
Hostage to the virgin society
and the penitentiary.