Nov 2015
I had a dream last night
Where all the flowers in the prison yard
Had turned full bloom
The reflections from them turned walls bright
'Till I awoke to the cold, hard
Reality of my room
The small magic book that tells
The voices what to say to me
When we're alone
Can't conjure up the words for smells
Nor the sad, sweet beauty
Of missing home
Where all the flowers in the prison yard
Had turned full bloom
The reflections from them turned walls bright
'Till I awoke to the cold, hard
Reality of my room
The small magic book that tells
The voices what to say to me
When we're alone
Can't conjure up the words for smells
Nor the sad, sweet beauty
Of missing home
I actually wrote this poem while I was in mental hospital. A few years later I actually ended up in prison. It sums up my experience in both quite well though. Trying to explain the emotions and feeling of either experience with my limited words was quite impossible in either case.
I intended it to try and describe how, no matter how low we feel our lives or thoughts have sunk, there is always a tiny flicker of hope among us, even if they're only contained in our memories and our dreams.
The original second line in the second stanza was originally "My cellmate what to say to me" in reference to a non-English speaker on my ward, who could communicate effectively only through a book of translations with the rest of the patients on our wing.
The rest of the poem is in its original form
I intended it to try and describe how, no matter how low we feel our lives or thoughts have sunk, there is always a tiny flicker of hope among us, even if they're only contained in our memories and our dreams.
The original second line in the second stanza was originally "My cellmate what to say to me" in reference to a non-English speaker on my ward, who could communicate effectively only through a book of translations with the rest of the patients on our wing.
The rest of the poem is in its original form
