The dream hovers
Where even the senses can't touch it; Separating itself from the mind, It dances upon the moonlit surface, Like art unfathomable in its reach. Rising like the morning mist, Free. Only to disappear somewhere in the vastness. Dancing to the mystic mind Reaching beyond the walls. A poem written whilst in solitary confinement, San Quentin Adjustment Centre. Steve Champion (Adisa Kamara)
1 Comment
Charlotte Stuart
12/16/2017 09:23:07 am
I have the impression that the poem was written over a long period of time, line by line, as the poet waited for the lines to come into existence. This tactic calls for an unusually variety of patience!
Reply
Leave a Reply. |
Adisa Kamara
Poetry, writing & Lessons in Life from San Quentin death row Archives
April 2018
Categories
All
Archives
April 2018
|