Raymond White
The title to this poem is called “Invisible to a World.”
I have been invisible to a world for so long. Am I even still considered a human being? The sun, moon, stars, they live inside me, but my eyes cannot distinctly see them.
I remember into a time where I was once a member of a fortunate society, watching people live their lives content from a remote distance without ever having to worry about the sweltering chaos. I freeze inside the shallow prison. Watching your days go by faster than you realize, that life has passed you by. And you wonder if your existence is still valid. Inside a place where time grows over upon you and you wonder if nature births a memory that gives you life again.
I remember a time when I heard the distant echoes of river currents and ocean surges still wailing loudly. They’re just flourishing by, an essential sequence. It’s a beautiful element of life that I still dearly miss: the existence of humanity that still lives out there somewhere.
I now live presently inside a cell. And most of the time I feel a dark wall crumbling down among me. A deep pain that festers from such a dark place, and a solitude that cannot be humanly deciphered.
But the belief in freedom is considered substance of thoughts. And the matter is a spirit which holds it together. It’s a streak of hope that still keeps me sane, keeps me still believing that a human still exists inside me, a part of me that has not felt in so long, from a world that has lost me by its immediate, is replaced by a man that can still be visible once again.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.
