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
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
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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 |
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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 |
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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 ! |
