Alright, my name is Steven Nicholson here at Cotton Correctional Facility in Jackson, MI. The name of this poem is “20,000 Days.”
Sometimes I feel like a miserable, minuscule, pitiful, little fool. 20,000 days on earth, but still, 14,000 were under the girth of a system that kills, kills to distill the thrill of life, classes that kill the mind instead of build the mind, build the mind, blow the mind, destroy the whole concept of time for me and mine.
A Bible line says God’s time is one day is equal to 1000 of mine. Do the math and you can either whine or realize everything is fine. Like a controlled explosion of landmines, he brought forth time, so if you yearn with a burn, know Jesus is a controlled burn and he is pure, making those who are served as we’re pure to become eternal, merch, and don’t besmirch rolling the dice, playing with your life, thinking you got time to get it right.
What’s right, your opinion or mine? Is there a truth beyond the grasp of our minds? People worship the stars and stripes, more like bars and landmines. People like me and mines got to be very brave in a land full of graves, because we ain’t all free, and man, this time, this time’s got me mesmerized, and my eyes are full of grime cause my tears cascade and fly so much that the ducks are dry.
So I must fight to keep from acting on my desires that don’t just kill and add time but fail to satisfy the longing eyes of those who look to me for help on how to get a slice of the pie. How many more days, how much more time will it take, to save the lives of those blind to the surprise that they are ready to die.
That’s it guys. I hope you enjoy it.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.