Roses Growing In Our Own Prison Walls
this is the situation,
soon you will find
you live in prison walls,
and those who see you
tell you
you have no God.
perhaps they say that
since they see no
icons on our walls
we bow not
to sunsets
we make no wooden
crosses
oh, let us tell them
we've grown roses in our prison walls
on the fertile grounds
of our heart
we speak to God
in our poetry
with all the silence and
gentleness
and patience of the
snail
we have gone beyond
wood, and stone,
and images,
we have passed through
all these walls
man-made as they are,
we have jumped over the
fences of
the flesh, and they who use
their eyes
in the middle of their own
human light
do not see
we, have, only,
hearts.
we, are, pure,
hearts.
we, are, love,
solitude,
in privacy with
our God.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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