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107 Raphael
Look ! Look at this heart of mines
Pulsating with passion !
It pulsates with life, with love, with sincerity
Take it. Feel it. Hold it in your hand
It beats in the rhythm from our motherland
Created from the earth by God above
It pounds and beats with the purest love

106 Richard
I am not giving up! 
I am fighting until the end, until there is no room to fight.
I am hurting inside, it´s tearing me apart, but I will not give up!
I am fighting until the end, until there is no room to fight.
All these years of suffering, I will not put to waste.
The pain I feel is real, I feel it everyday.
It bleeds inside of me, I shed tears for my loved ones.
I think of them and I hurt.
I hurt because they should not be feeling this way because of me.
I am the one who got sentenced to death, not them!
But Love, the REAL love, the UNCONDITIONAL love is what keeps us together!
If my loved ones want to hurt with me and die with me.
I will let them share this pain with me!
But I am not giving up.
I am fighting until the end, until there is no room to fight...
105 Frank
Behind prison walls, the convict prays for better days
Recalls his season in the sun when this life begun
Spring first spread his wings so much to be seen
Summer morn the rebel born between right and wrong he was torn
One autumn day he went away
Winter breeze upon his knee, God hear my plea
A torrent of time amass the years
Spring, summer, fall, winter, life´s final call
Beyond prison walls, freedom calls

104 Frank
Dreamt of a dark horizon, a storm upon the sea
Rains of sadness caress the waves
Winds of sorrow blow clouds of misery
Fountain claps of thunder pierce the air rolling with despair
Lighting strikes end the night
Awoke to a rising sun, a new day has begun, troubles on the run
Sadness, sorrow, misery, despair vanish in the air



103 Frank
Wayward son, you make your momma´s heart come undone
On your quest for the sun, always on the run
Wayward one, your heart´s so numb
Wayward son, momma´s always there, your burden she will bear
Wayward one, although momma´s hair is gray
She´ll always cherish the day your life begun
What a joy her baby boy
Wayward son, toys were so much fun with the gun
Use to play with balls, now you´re behind prison walls
Still she calls wayward son, not my only one
Wayward son, my favorite one
Till the end of time, you´ll be mine
Someday we´ll part, I´ll remain in your heart
Pray for a new start, apple of my eye
We´ll meet in the bye and bye
At Heaven´s gate, I´ll await
Wayward one, momma knows your fate
Wayward son, the fortunate one
For the joy to be her baby boy
Momma, you´re the one, love your wayward son

102 Lain
Where can one find true beauty
If one does not know where to look

How many fleeting second chances does each man need
How many broken hearts, promises, or hopes

At what break in the path, did we get so lost
When does “being a man” mean bring others down

Instead I plead for you to encourage
Find yourself in this beautiful prison of hope

Every moment my heart inches closer or farther away
Each choice is mine only to make

Where can one find faith
If one does not have a rock to stand on

How often must we seek help to stand back up
How many evil deeds, sins, or transgressions 

At what break in the path, did we get so lost
When does “being a man” mean not being faithful

Instead I plead for you to love with all your might
And find yourself in this beautiful prison of hope
101 Tavares FL
Lyrical vernacular of a forsaken populace begging to be heard serenade the power elite who deliberately ignore.
Why endure this hypocrisy disguised as a democracy when the reality is that no ruling class has ever given up it’s power to those it considers more enlightened.
Fringed between patriot and anarchist, I ponder the morality of this reality and ask myself if a person does in fact become neurotic because he cannot tolerate the amount of frustration which society imposes on him in the service of it’s cultural ideals.
In my dreams I am free from the rhetorical speeches of professional orators, and soar to a richly intertwined multidimensional labyrinth of a complex universe.
Forms in the abstract diverge in vein of the optic nerve and reveal a colorful display of a kaleidoscopic florescence.
But sleep is only temporary and reality awaits the moment I awake and again I am embraced with a hardcore honesty that inspires another poetic expression.
Desperate to overcome the circumstances of the here and now, I’ll continue to sing aloud - the song of the destitute !
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