Tear Drops of the Soul
I’m but a nomad who wanders the land of the lonely. I’m in search of my oasis, where I can dip in the pool of your understanding. And feast upon the tropical fruits of your friendship.
Prison is a vast desert of wandering souls. I’m on a torture rack in the mental dungeon. Unfasten the straps that bind me. Hear my cries. Already your eyes rest on the words before you. So I give a standing ovation.
If only you knew there were days the tear drops soak the pillars of my mind. You are the angel who hears my cries. With you on my side, I could take these broken wings and learn to fly again. I could cast off this yoke, and bask in the glow of your camaraderie. I seek nothing from you but to feel as if I’m back in the world of the living. We could share life’s experiences. But no margin on paper could restrict our hopes and dreams. Our conversations could catapult us into the stratosphere.
By writing you, the shackles of my mind could be unlocked. I wish to be emancipated from this bondage of enslavement. I’m 6’2”, 240 lbs, and I toil in the cotton fields of misery.
I have so much to share, if only given a chance. My soul years to be set free. If only at mail call.
Allan Scott #110864
Florida State Prison
PO Box 800
Raiford, FL 32083