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Son Prison Poems | Prison Poems About Son

These Son Prison poems are examples of Prison poems about Son. These are the best examples of Son Prison poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

Details | Light Poetry |

That One Chance

                                                       That One Chance
                                             If I had that one chance I would,
                                             Eliminate that reality that hate could,
                                             Destory the purpose of loves will,
                                             For hate is a reality that loves to kill.

                                             Having this one chance I would  know,
                                             That my life has that chance to show 
                                             No other purpose is their from hate,
                                             Because hate is not my only fate.

                                             If I had that one chance to love,
                                             I woulld humble its desire thereof,
                                             For I know that its desire is from,
                                             The essence of a true reality to come.

                                             So if one fines that one chance,
                                             To adore its love snd take a stance..

Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) |

The Camarilla

The Camarilla  *part 1

She forgets every meaning of untroubled silence and fantasy
Joyful and full of spirit, indulgent ways to live a life in existence
Her unity, filled with haven never again the craven
Allowing to never again be discredited, nor run from her responsibilities
Walking in a bust that rejected hopeful-less feelings
The love, joy healed every carefree solitary need
Soft reactions, with a gift that holds inner peace
A joy of the stop, universal, opening the silence

Her enemy now wears the white wolf coat~ 
With no interest of ongoing thoughts, ending these uncomfortable ways
Engraved words removed, releasing pristine motions that swim in mystery
Gazing at the world with one complete look, of everything
Regretting old thoughts of waste
Losing and forgetting every notion that now can be dealt and felt'  
Rising to the ability of her sexuality, that rises above and below all levels
Now she whispers, words that untwist her fate, with great debate
Destroying and diverting demonic demons dat are dreaming

A sin to go on when one ignores the light
A lovely look against every break was all it took
Intervening every change that took place
She is and always will be saved,
Enjoying all the pleasure and painless desires for compassion  
Eliminating every form of inner prison, turning it into medicated freedom
Dedicating every matter behind,
Oh! How to spread that life's a dream one should be shared

Sane like the flowers that grow throughout the year
Finally, finding the perfect ruler of peaceful grace
Calmly giving life and advice, praying, praising, and preparing
Forgetting her NEFARIOUS, purpose!

Dedicate~ to: The MALKAVIAN- Part 1* Poem written by; Nate D.

Details | Rhyme |

A Can of Peaches

She was a kleptomaniac,
His wife of thirty years.
The risks she took for stuff of little value
Had all but driven him to tears.

She had such low regard for the risk;
Always said, “If I’m caught, I’ll pay.”
“But what if they’re not satisfied?” he’d ask.
She just smiled and said, “That’ll be the day.”

When first they met, he thought her just young and wild;
And, after all, it really did no one any harm.
It was fun to watch her be so sneaky,
Kind of a sexy part of her appealing charm.

The stuff she stole was so petty,
But she seemed to have such fun.
After all, it wasn’t for the stuff she stole,
But for the thrill of what she’d done.

As time had passed, he had finally realized
It was a sickness, not just a game to play.
She’d steal something almost everywhere she went,
And she went somewhere almost every day.

So, it had gotten old and tiresome, completely out of hand.
His pleas of “Get some help.” she would ignore;
Tho’ she might have thought better of it
If she had known what was in store.

While grocery shopping, she tried to steal a can of peaches.
They caught her, called the cops, sent her off to jail.
She called her embarrassed and disgusted husband, 
Who resentfully made arrangements for her bail.

When her court date came, he went along;
And when her case came up, he was by her side.
As the judge reviewed her charges, it seemed to him
That the judge’s patience was being sorely tried.

“Madam" the judge said angrily, "…a single can of peaches?
It’s obvious you have no desperate financial need.
You are wasting my court’s time with such farce.
So, do you plead?"

She feigned regret. She bowed her head.
Surely such a ploy might change his attitude.
“Guilty, your Honor.  I am so sorry.”
He growled, “Save your platitudes.”

Then he asked, “How many peaches were in the can?”
“Your Honor, I believe that there were ten."
“Madam, I intend to teach you a lesson this day.
You’ll think twice before you steal again.

You’ll serve three days in county jail for each peach in that can.”
Her husband saw his chance.  He said, “Your Honor, if you please,
Before you pass her final sentence, you should know….
She also stole a can of peas!"

Details | Prose |

The Color of My Skin

                                                The Color of My Skin

                                     Why do you hate the color of my skin.
                                     Is it that you think I'm inferior from within;
                                     Or can you see that natural man in me,
                                     If so its because my soul is of reality.

                                     Why do you hate the intelect of my mind,
                                     Or can you say it possesses more then time;
                                     If so, why do you treat me so unkind.

                                     Why do you hate the pattern of my speech,
                                     Is it morally sound for you to teach;
                                     Mend your way of life or I'll be,
                                     Locked in this cage from reality....

Details | Prose Poetry |

Good From Bad

Eighth of November,
nineteen years before 
the start of the 21st century
Suffolk County Georgia State Penitentiary
He slowly walks down the cold and barren hallway
The Preacher right beside asking the Lord's forgiveness
Entering the chamber where one lone chair sits
He has come to grips with his mortality
Eyes only gazing at the worn oak floor
He is seated and strapped with ice cold steel
The Warden asks for any last words
"May the Lord look after my unborn baby girl"
Eight Thirty Eight  the lights flicker 
The mouths of the onlookers drop
He no longer can be a burden to society!!

Eight of November
nineteen years before
the start of the 21st century
Clare County Michigan State Hospital
Down at the end of the pure white hallway
A young mother to be
Nurse right beside praying to the Lord new life be born
She has come to grips with Motherhood
Laying up high on the table
Strapped in to the stirrups of warmth
Her words could be heard
"May the Lord bring me this baby girl"
Eight Thirty Eight you hear the cries
The mouths of the onlookers all grin
For one mans sin has turned into life again


Details | Rhyme |

Hidden Places Of The Mind

My heart is shattered but knowone cares,
all I recieve are hard cold glares.
my soul wanders in this exteme universe,
like the words that spit out a most vile curse.
A blackend sun that invades my space,
as I fade deeper into society trying to find my place.
my spirit transparent like ghosts from the past,
anxiety I feel as my heart beats fast.
I could scream out loud but I'm always ignored,
fading into black like in the mind of someone out of their gourd.
Elements perspire like a wrecking ball of hope,
my adrenaline pumps as I try to cope.
The world judges my being as they only see one way,
as I refuse to be a part of this role that they play.
Silence is deafening to the curious of hearts,
as we all act out our own individual parts.
Auras spark and pulses race,
as we all explore what time won't erase.
Deep within inner fires rage
Someone help me and get me off of this stage.
I refuse to play out this act anymore,
as this fire has burned out and has burned me to the core.

Details | Free verse |

Paris my prison

another world for me
a soul that I be
a freedom for life
free by love for liberty
for living — Paris my reason
Paris my unfulfilled desire
Paris my prison

Details | Haiku |

Butterfly In A Bottle

Slowly opens the eyes
Amazed, flutters to the skies
Contained. Settles and sighs.

Details | Rhyme |

Death Row

Ten years I’m sitting here upon Death Row, 
All appeals done they say I gotta go.
I didn't mean to do what happened on that day. 
My mind was altered in a weird kind of way.

I can deal with the truth and deal with the pain, 
But I can’t even remember was there sun or rain. 
It was like a movie upon the big screen, 
Man with a gun didn't want to be mean…
Gimmie some money I gotta get my fix,
Maybe even later join in some tricks… 
Wait, hey, what is that you’re putting in your hand?
I’m pulling the trigger, music from a band…

Ten years I’m sitting here upon Death Row, 
All appeals done they say I gotta go.
I didn't mean to do what happened on that day. 
My mind was altered in a weird kind of way.

I’m out working hard each day, 
Needs for my family met in every way…
I’m bringing home my love and my trust, 
Then I’m catching you engaged in lust…
Ripping apart the two of you, my rage so fueled by pain…
He was my best friend but will never be again…
I see your life has left you as I drop you on the floor; 
I turn to find my friend he was gone out the door…

Ten years I’m sitting here upon Death Row, 
All appeals done they say I gotta go.
I didn't mean to do what happened on that day. 
My mind was altered in a weird kind of way.

Mah boys ‘n me bounced and a rollin’, 
Tracking em down for what they stolen…
We got ‘em pinned down, by the store front…
Mah boys ‘n me are smoking a blunt…
Copper and lead like rain fallin’ fast… 
Wind blowin’ sideways blood won’t last… 
Tires are squealing speedin’ away… 
Only to get caught another day…


Ten years I’m sitting here upon Death Row, 
All appeals done they say I gotta go.
I didn't mean to do what happened on that day. 
My mind was altered in a weird kind of way.

Details | Narrative |


I eat and sit
Stretch and Sleep and
Dance with time.
I've found mundane
       In raw mounds in my palms
- and swayed in its drunkenness.

Time, she's tried to touch me
      - tries - 
But, floating, I hold no weight,
Amorphous, we drift about,
She and I, never touching,
She and I, never existing;

Meaningless and comforting.