October 9th 2009

I dedicate this poem to all the young people in juvenile halls across the Untied States of America ( and yes I did mean untied)

Your Voices, your words...

i stepped off the curb
didn’t see you coming
behind the bars,
trapped
like injured butterflies
in old glass jars
your best moment,
easily equaling my
worst nightmare
how could I have been so blind?
oblivious
to your
beautiful design?

i can hear your voices
ascending,
softly in my ear
way down they say,
way down they say,
way down here...

most days
i couldn't even look,
refused to make or take
the time
but now
a power greater then i,
has finally
freed
my mind,
opened my heart,
jump-started my soul,
for you are my child,
little brother,
sweet sister,
never too old

so decide I have
to climb
down
to a depth
way
way
beyond my own,
to a place
so unacknowledged
so completely
far from home

for it is here
that I offer
my hand
to you
with
compassion
love
and
grace

where we can now
stand
and
heal
together
with
the
truth

face to face