Cellblock Evolution
Patterns of light and dark shape the world about,
and the prisoner knows each, as if an old friend.
They are the external world to him, until the end,
and so he feels secure in their daily presence about.
Day is ‘lights on’ and the hours move in ordered flow,
until ‘lights out’, and night descends with a firm hand.
The cell and the hallway are his small world’s land,
known, trod into familiarity, and some unknown to go.
Routine is his life now, patterns set within the mind,
and to them, he is even more a prisoner, for life.
Such is the embryonic womb amid violent strife,
and here is a sort of wisdom only one like he will find.
Whoa. I was just in prison. Fantastic writing.