Saturday Night

Look out of that window. 

Wait, I hear there is no window. 

If only you could fly through walls 

this Saturday morning to freedom…

Will there be a tomorrow? 

The Judges have been blindfolded, 

and some are blind already. 

Saturday night is alright for fighting.

If only you could find a path 

to make your way to freedom, 

steal a little sunlight, 

who knows how far you could go?

They will not let you outside. 

They will not let you come home. 

You do not fit their profile. 

It is almost like you do not exist.

You cannot see the clouds 

or listen to the music you like. 

When you dream on this Saturday 

night, will you dream of freedom?

There is no window. 

There is no night sky in your cell. 

The outside can’t look in.

It’s a miscarriage of justice.

Outside there are voices fighting for you. 
Saturday night is alright for fighting.

*

Echoes

I live in a forest 
where echoes  

plunge into my ears, 

where they sing  

a song wrapped in a 

riddle. My skin crawls 

into a sea of emotions, 

where I drown under 

restless waves so 

far from pleasure.

*
The Same Stories

I tend to repeat 

the same stories 

over and over  

without thinking  

it is a recycled

story. Sometimes 

I embellish a bit 

because memory 

fails me or the stories 

have gone stale. 

Either way I 

am often stopped 

before I get to 

the middle of  

the story. I heard 

that before I am 

told or my family 

and friends finish 

my story with a 

smile or annoyance. 

I need more stories 

or remember stories 

I have not told before. 

With new people I 

meet, I can get away 

with my repeated 

stories but only 

for a little while.