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L e a d M e
Michael S. Combs - incarcerated on death row San Quentin
From the unreal lead me to the real...
From the darkness lead me to the light...
From imprisonment lead me to justice and freedom...
From stationary lead me to mobility...
From ignorance lead me to self-knowledge...
From deficiency lead me to growth and empowerment...
From all that is evil and wrong lead me to the righteous and just...
From being alone and a follower of life lead me to become a true leader of change and the positive...
From the unknown lead me to be known in knowledge that matters...
From around my heart my these things lead me and give me drive to stay alive within and beyond this place...
Michael S. Combs - incarcerated on death row San Quentin
From the unreal lead me to the real...
From the darkness lead me to the light...
From imprisonment lead me to justice and freedom...
From stationary lead me to mobility...
From ignorance lead me to self-knowledge...
From deficiency lead me to growth and empowerment...
From all that is evil and wrong lead me to the righteous and just...
From being alone and a follower of life lead me to become a true leader of change and the positive...
From the unknown lead me to be known in knowledge that matters...
From around my heart my these things lead me and give me drive to stay alive within and beyond this place...
A Toast : “Curse of the Gang God” by Craig A. Ross, San Quentin death row
I am the Gang God.
Pledge your allegiance to me, I will give thee
a gang you can call your own,
a hood you can claim as home
and wars you can desert-storm.
I’ll give you an identity and rep for the streets;
but first, forsake everything you know, including your beliefs,
but heed this warning my price is steep.
I am the Gang God.
Suckle my poison let it corrupt your soul,
become my obedient servant bound to my code.
Come, let me engulf you in my darkness
and blind you from the truth ;
turn you loose in a city of madness where you’re despised for what you do.
Go forth, do my bidding, let my destruction reign supreme,
and when anyone asks why you do what you do,
tell ‘em ‘cause you don’t give a fuck about a thing.
I am the Gang God
I’ll satisfy your psychopathic thirst,
to do dirt, to do hurt, and what’s worst, here’s my curse ;
I demand blood, chaos and crime, and everything I give you I’ll
take back because I always change my mind....read more
I am the Gang God.
Pledge your allegiance to me, I will give thee
a gang you can call your own,
a hood you can claim as home
and wars you can desert-storm.
I’ll give you an identity and rep for the streets;
but first, forsake everything you know, including your beliefs,
but heed this warning my price is steep.
I am the Gang God.
Suckle my poison let it corrupt your soul,
become my obedient servant bound to my code.
Come, let me engulf you in my darkness
and blind you from the truth ;
turn you loose in a city of madness where you’re despised for what you do.
Go forth, do my bidding, let my destruction reign supreme,
and when anyone asks why you do what you do,
tell ‘em ‘cause you don’t give a fuck about a thing.
I am the Gang God
I’ll satisfy your psychopathic thirst,
to do dirt, to do hurt, and what’s worst, here’s my curse ;
I demand blood, chaos and crime, and everything I give you I’ll
take back because I always change my mind....read more
I remain
by Troy J. Clarke ~ Texas Death Row
My mind is a crime, it’s been beaten, robbed
and murdered of emotions; cast into the chaos
of Texas Death Row, for a crime I’ve not done.
Waiting for the executioner to come.
Feeding the death house with scarred souls,
I’ve seen over 300 men go, strapped to
the gurney, needle in their arm, saying
Sorry for all the hurt and harm.
I’m on my last appeal and will soon get
an execution date.
For me it’s too late,
but when it’s my turn to meet Death,
I’ll claim Innocence with my dying breath.
I was blamed, framed, caught up in
a deadly game…slowly going insane..
Can you feel my pain?
Yet, I Remain….
Innocent!!!
By: Troy J.Clark #999351
Texas Death Row
October 2017
and murdered of emotions; cast into the chaos
of Texas Death Row, for a crime I’ve not done.
Waiting for the executioner to come.
Feeding the death house with scarred souls,
I’ve seen over 300 men go, strapped to
the gurney, needle in their arm, saying
Sorry for all the hurt and harm.
I’m on my last appeal and will soon get
an execution date.
For me it’s too late,
but when it’s my turn to meet Death,
I’ll claim Innocence with my dying breath.
I was blamed, framed, caught up in
a deadly game…slowly going insane..
Can you feel my pain?
Yet, I Remain….
Innocent!!!
By: Troy J.Clark #999351
Texas Death Row
October 2017
"Phantom Souls" - by Gerald G. Schultz
Gerald is currently incarcerated at Illinois Department of Corrections - Solitary Confinement
Phantom Souls
Unable to be perceived by the outside world and sometimes unable to be perceived by our own selves. We are an estimated 2 million, but the sound of a pin falling to the ground makes a much louder sound than 4 million teardrops, incessantly falling every second of every hour of every day for the “phantom souls” that are entombed in their purgatory state of existence inside correctional facilities across the United States.
We are “phantom souls”: the men, women and children incarcerated from all realms of life. Yes, it can be said that we’ve made mistakes and wrong choices in our lives’ quest. It can be said that, in more cases than one, we deserve to be imprisoned, some of us for the rest of our lives. It can also be said that many of us have disappointed and let down the people of our own communities, but has it been said that we are human beings too? Has everyone forgotten that we, too, are your parents, spouses, children, relatives and friends? Has it been said that we, too, still bleed and even breathe the very same air as the rest of the world does? We still bleed! We still breathe! Unfortunately, the world has immediately forgotten our presence and existence as soon as the iron gates slam and cell doors close.... read more
Unable to be perceived by the outside world and sometimes unable to be perceived by our own selves. We are an estimated 2 million, but the sound of a pin falling to the ground makes a much louder sound than 4 million teardrops, incessantly falling every second of every hour of every day for the “phantom souls” that are entombed in their purgatory state of existence inside correctional facilities across the United States.
We are “phantom souls”: the men, women and children incarcerated from all realms of life. Yes, it can be said that we’ve made mistakes and wrong choices in our lives’ quest. It can be said that, in more cases than one, we deserve to be imprisoned, some of us for the rest of our lives. It can also be said that many of us have disappointed and let down the people of our own communities, but has it been said that we are human beings too? Has everyone forgotten that we, too, are your parents, spouses, children, relatives and friends? Has it been said that we, too, still bleed and even breathe the very same air as the rest of the world does? We still bleed! We still breathe! Unfortunately, the world has immediately forgotten our presence and existence as soon as the iron gates slam and cell doors close.... read more
When Hope Dies
by Craig A. Ross
When hope dies in prison, nothing is left.
When it lies withering on the visiting room floor,
or shattered in the isolation of a cold cell, nothing is left.
When hope dies you cannot see the brightness of the sun,
nor feel its warmth wrapped tightly around you like a lover's arms.
You cannot hear the song of the ocean in your bones pulling you with ancient rhythms towards the moon.
And you cannot move, you cannot breathe, you cannot think straight because your whole being is numb,
suffocating in the invisible,
the forgotten,
the lost.
When hope dies in prison there is nothing left.... read more
When it lies withering on the visiting room floor,
or shattered in the isolation of a cold cell, nothing is left.
When hope dies you cannot see the brightness of the sun,
nor feel its warmth wrapped tightly around you like a lover's arms.
You cannot hear the song of the ocean in your bones pulling you with ancient rhythms towards the moon.
And you cannot move, you cannot breathe, you cannot think straight because your whole being is numb,
suffocating in the invisible,
the forgotten,
the lost.
When hope dies in prison there is nothing left.... read more
Walker's Requiem
by Craig A. Ross
An account of a young man's last day before being executed
Best short fiction - Pen Prison Writing Award 1995:
by Craig A. Ross
An account of a young man's last day before being executed
Best short fiction - Pen Prison Writing Award 1995:
Walker's Requiem
Craig A. Ross
(Ajani Kamara)
"I could see myself in the dark mahogany coffin. How I had gotten there and why was something I couldn't remember. I could hear the hum of an organ playing softly in the background, as mourners began filling the pews of the small church. Most of the faces I didn't recognize, but there were a few mugs I was happy to see, homeboys from the old neighborhood-Big J.T., Lowdown, Spoony, and Spoony's little brother, Klepto, who, at the ripe old age of ten, was already a professional thief. I thought it was strange that they were wearing white dinner jackets and carrying serving plates. Then again, these were guys who'd wake up in the morning and smoke weed for breakfast. They probably thought there were going to be some eats after the funeral. I didn't blame them; these things can be pretty boring. I saw my family seated in the front row. My lawyer, with his secretary, Dora, was sitting behind them. My mother, who never dreamed she would outlive any of her children, looked on, stricken. I felt a pang of guilt...."read more
Craig A. Ross
(Ajani Kamara)
"I could see myself in the dark mahogany coffin. How I had gotten there and why was something I couldn't remember. I could hear the hum of an organ playing softly in the background, as mourners began filling the pews of the small church. Most of the faces I didn't recognize, but there were a few mugs I was happy to see, homeboys from the old neighborhood-Big J.T., Lowdown, Spoony, and Spoony's little brother, Klepto, who, at the ripe old age of ten, was already a professional thief. I thought it was strange that they were wearing white dinner jackets and carrying serving plates. Then again, these were guys who'd wake up in the morning and smoke weed for breakfast. They probably thought there were going to be some eats after the funeral. I didn't blame them; these things can be pretty boring. I saw my family seated in the front row. My lawyer, with his secretary, Dora, was sitting behind them. My mother, who never dreamed she would outlive any of her children, looked on, stricken. I felt a pang of guilt...."read more
Walking with Demons - by Craig Ross, 2005
Twenty-three years (at the time of writing - in 2005).
That’s how long I’ve been here. Surrounded by the same colors, the same sounds, the same faces, the same smells, the same routine. Twenty-three years on death row and I’ve watched more men commit suicide or lose their minds than I have seen executed. No matter how I do the math I realize statistically, either way I could be screwed. So I made an uneasy alliance with this nocuous environment in order to survive, straddled between life and death, I decided to walk with my demons and not give them control. If I did, I would like many others, be a prime candidate for taking the little pills that make you sleep or stare at the TV all day, or worse, a guard could find my lifeless body at count time dangling from the cell bars. The battle for self-possession is a solitary struggle and inside the isolation of prison the turmoil must be nullified alone.... read more