The OG of the Penitentiary
Steel gates whisper his name in the wind,
Legends bow, their bravado dimmed.
A gaze like thunder, a voice like stone,
King of the shadows, he stands alone.
No chains could bind the fire inside,
No walls could tame his ruthless pride.
Even the hardest, the ones who don’t break,
Learned to watch their step, learned to hesitate.
He walks, and silence floods the halls,
No echoes follow, just loaded pause.
One misstep, one reckless glance,
Would seal a fate—not left to chance.
Respect carved deep like marks on stone,
A legacy sung in whispers alone.
Not through words, nor through might,
But through the weight of his burning sight.
Even guards keep their measured tread,
Prisons hold many, but not all are bred
From storms that rage, from roads untamed—
Only one name, forever ingrained.
He is the line, the line unbroken,
The name unchallenged, the word unspoken.
Even time, in quiet refrain,
Bows its head—won't call his name.
Copyright ©
Michael Fulkerson
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