When one’s thoughts become so pure and plain, it is either time to be released or die. For after so long of walls and their little warmth, I can smell the honeysuckle…still from my daydream.

I stand alone along the prison hall. I close my eyes. I see myself enter a small house. For I just left the quiet country road I walked upon. The road shown only trees, sand edged up to the hot blacktop. No other homes were there. Just the one I stepped into. It is a lived in home, small, yet no-one about. I’ve passed the small sparing living room, glanced up the worn stairs… Now in the kitchen, there’s a hand pump for waterat the sink. Yet, the sunset draws me near the back screen door. I’m close to the rust of it. I see through it. The yard is small, high bushes enclose it. Then, and it is whats keeping me there… the smell, the smell of honeysuckle. Such a sweet smell. It is all I want, just to stand here, daydream and breathe.

This entry was posted on Monday, June 11th, 2007 at 12:09 pm and is filed under George Martorano, country road, free, freedom, inmate, prison. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.