The stone walls are topped with razor wire
They reach for the clouds so high above
The windows and doors are fortified with bars
This is sure not a place of smiles and love
The pointy turrets look like castle towers
The guards hold machine guns steady aimed
The field of fire intersects the yard
Where the wild flowers grow untamed
They call it the Dorchester Federal Institution
But it’s been a prison since 1892
The very hardened long term criminals
Shuffled through its gates with time to do
Inside a model prisoner sits handcuffed
Faint act of smiling for his mom and dad
He had been a boy accused of murder
At nineteen he was given life...so sad
Now they say he’ll be out at fifty three
If he keeps being the model that he’s been
They may even let him go at fifty
Tell him to start again without his sin
He doesn’t have much hope though
This prison has been his lonely home
He nods his head goodbye to his folks
Shuffles to his lonely cell once more alone
It's always sad to see someone waste their life like this. Institutionalized. But they make a choice. I'm not a big fan of keeping killers alive, though. They eat our tax dollars, and they have free access to educational avenues and a gym (in some cases). Wish the rest of us had those bennies. This write is great. Hugs,
Sheila
Paul;-]
-Carrie
Take care,
Sherry
Being lockedup within the self...a total different story!!
To that I can relate!!
Love Tinka
"If I have to...Then I may as well be."