the way of things...

Well. To all and all and all. As a lot of you may know, I injured my right hand in the struggle in the sky and it seems that the forces against me have finally tried to take my last remaining gift. For I so need my right hand to write and to type. Yet, it is difficult. Yet, I am slower but my mind is fresh and I will continue as best I can to be the voice the best I can. So this I relay to the world:

Common is the rivers that flow to thee. Common is the sky that we all see. Common is love, not deep, but felt. Common are other prisoners all in a swell. Common am I as the days of yesterday are still here. Common am I to live in the cage in my heart’s dismay. So common to where my thoughts become a well. Oh where, oh where, is justice to draw from the tears that pond. Yes, common are my days, gray as within my hearts haze. Common are those who wish me here. Common are those throughout the long years. But this I say, to common alone. Never will I be as a calendar to see. For I am the bold print of the holidays to come. So, common is there and will always be but I George stand as the sentenced tree. Strong and tall and will always be.

by: George Martorano
CR# 12973