it’s in the hard-pressed caves of

a black face,

seared from years of the sun,


a deep gaze of the


the stains on our establishment,


a laugh without request,

a stride without recess,

to ask and not confess–

shun what you know,

forget what you don’t;


this is hope,

and it’s stirring.


3 thoughts on “Caves

    • Okay, apparently we both did a good job of representing our inspiration for the poem because (assuming you wrote about Johnny Cash in Fulsom) we both were inspired by prison life–I had just finished watching Shawshank Redemption for the first time maybe ten minutes before writing this poem. How interesting!

      • Cool, man. Reading your poem just brought back to mind the exact image of an inmate’s face that I had conjured up when I wrote mine. Thought you might have been somehow stealing my thoughts.

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