Sight don’t make a man see, voice don’t make a man speak. Bars don’t hold a man back; bullets don’t stop a man’s heart. Living don’t mean man’s alive, death don’t mean man’s not living. He lives, yet still his eyes don’t see, and his mind can’t think and his feet can’t walk. He is trapped in a place that his mind only sees, a place within a place that requires no key. A place where only will can unlock, as mental strength is needed just to plan an escape. His heart resides next to bitterness, even though his blood pumps gallons of sugar. But to him, it resides in a peaceful place, how tragic.
To embrace a case full of boxes, each with locks upon locks, only effort to unlock it. To deny himself that which he deserves only ‘cause another said to him that he deserves much less. To return to the man that placed him in pain, and fall to his knees as he begs for assistance, to aim at his brother ‘cause another said he should, and pull the trigger with his finger so he may be free.
To see a world full of hate, and to do nothing. To see a world full of possibilities, and to do nothing. To remain on the same lane over a stretch of time, and to think the same way without thinking twice is to think without a head and walk without legs, and to never question all the odds and let the things carry on, is to sit in a big prison, a big prison that is made of glass.
Tags: Culture, Poetry, Short Story
