A Day in Prison (3 Poems)
1: Little Things
Sneaky little things, can they really hurt?
Happy little things, can they really help?
Can you a man , if you waken and face yourself,
remember little sins placed on the mind's shelf?
The next little crime so much like the first,
when side by side on the shelf, a curse,
as soon as compared
is bigger. Are you scared?
Of course not, it's just a little thing.
what harm can something so small bring?
Oh, how wrong can one person be?
As each successive small wicked fee
becomes larger, more sneaky than the last.
'Til you now look down at your past,
and then up at the stars
through your own prison bars.
Bad little things, can they really hurt?
Good little things, can they really help?
Small thing if repeated over and over again,
become very soon habits to leave a life barren.
Habits control and make man what he is.
Thoughts from that habit, they laugh and hiss,
I have you now,
my slave and how.”
But wait are all little things bad?
Can the hiss be a cheer so glad?
“Thank you”, “please”, “good morning” or “day”
“I love you”, “you're neat”, I'll help”, you say.
These are all such little things too,
but can also be habits as they coo.
Success can be yours
through good habit's doors.
Selfish little things, can they really hurt?
Caring little things, can they really help?
The Choice is yours. love can defeat the lies.
Can you open your heart and feel yourself rise.
The joy as you feel can help others feel.
Care enough to share, how with life you now deal,
cooperate, others do hear.
You can to their wants be near.
Say a good word, do a good deed;
helping a brother soon becomes a need.
Be open, not sneaky, a goodness to send.
others can say, “I want him for a friend.”
All men have faults. You will have yours.
Laugh at the dumb things, don't fret and care.
If the yarn weaves good fabrics,
just let them become habits.
Hateful little things, they can really hurt?
Loving little things, they can really help?
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2: Night Fright
written yr. 12; about yr. 1
“Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!”
I am so alone and scared
I'm awakened in the night.
wiping sweat from my brow.
The nightmare is very real,
Not just imagination.
“Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!”
It's engraved in my mem'ry.
I'm reliving it again,
over and over again.
I'm alone in a small room.
A narrow hallway goes by.
“Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!”
Metal bars separate me.
From the stark plain gray hallway
I'm halfway in, halfway out
The heavy metal doors clang
on each of the noisy ends.
“Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!”
They “bang” shut explosively,
one door must close before,
“clang,” the other will open.
The metal “clangs” as each opens
The cold “crash” as each closes.
“Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!”
“Terror” I'm in between.
“Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!”
awaiting hell's admittance
to life behind prison bars
and razor wire topped fences.
“Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!” “Clang!”
That is the dream, my nightmare.
Awake now I look at the
cold small window's metal bars
of my state prison cell,
to exist another day.
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3: I'm Not Alone
written yr. 12; about yr. 1
I'm not next to a college.
but in prison, helpless;
but this institute class
is not just any class
Here I'm far from my nightmare.
This classroom calms my fears.
This afternoon would clear
special joyful heartfelt tears.
A helpful lesson is planned.
The persistent teacher
asks us about our deep fear,
asks us if we feel Christ near.
From the player comes another.
He touches my heartstrings.
Music inside my heart reaching
the song blends fun new feelings.
Spiritual joy can happen now.
The tenor voice brings tingling.
“You're not alone,” is soothing.
A hard heart is softening.
Eyes close, feeling music's tones;
Christ's pure love engulfs me.
I think of my Savior's fee.
My new Friend helps me see
that His love includes all,
good things that we can feel,
He and followers can seal
love even on me, as real.
A sinner who harmed others
starts a spiritual beginning.
The song tells of Christ's caring.
Inside, my heart is singing.
I'm really not all alone.
A step, I've taken another,
toward my older brother,
toward my trusting in others.
New trusting of my Savior.
Who somehow understands
from suffering for our evil strands,
even my vile sin's iron bands.
May I always remember
That Tim is never alone.
In silence the still small tone
of His sweet love can atone.
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