poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “prison”

natural born killers

do you see my face
how it’s changed over the years
behind these bars
my eyes are barely visible

nobody here knows my name
nobody’s available
to interpret my dreams

I talk to myself without speaking
a stark reminder how
it’s always been this way

back in the day I never slept
but now it seems that’s all I do

back in the night
I roamed the city streets
blasted by light
both inside & out

fully packed & constantly aware
I look for a place to be alone

so here I am doing time
alongside natural born killers
learning from the second best
& taking from all the rest

august two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

once outside of the yard I will be forever free

so here I am held in some detention camp
along with every living soul I ever knew
one by one they are called away
until eventually I find myself alone again
selfishly gathering their freshly strewn petals

june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Beyond These Walls

This strange new world has me abounded by fear
not sure where I stand
unsure when I may fall

The aggression builds boundlessly
until the anger lets loose

And when it’s over
when I reflect on the action
when I’m all alone in my own little world

I weep
yes I weep like an angel

Since when do actions speak more loudly than words?
I say Jesus’ acts were more powerful than his gospel
(I keep him in my pocket, like a slug)
And when I’m sure that I can’t stand
on my own two feet
I reach for him

and weep
yes I weep like an angel

Try to believe you’re no different
than you were at the age of three
and you’re fooling yourself

Try to believe you’ve never pulled the trigger
and you’re fooling yourself

White concrete and silver steel
have never had the same meaning
as they do now

originally penned nineteen ninety-six
audio recorded june two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

some kind of way out of here

in the archives
they let me spend my time
weaving tales of prison breaks
not even the watchtower
can contain

this life inside
the loneliest place on earth
would break the common man
but here I sit and sail away

once a month
I wander the yard and chat
with all the pretty young ladies
who stopped writing me
years ago

in my mind
I lived out my days in paradise
where the flowering perennials
rooted before the breach
still flourish

june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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