Stephen Beam


Night In Solitary - Poem by Stephen Beam

Pharisees among thieves guiding a life to a darkness
Slipping like Christ on the way to calvary, he's picked up
Held between demonic hypocrites like a carcass...
Now his night begins with a metallic clank of the doors lock
Putting him into a state of ethereal being inside a box
Taking him to his subliminal hideaway away from pain's shock

'here i lay in the fetal position hiding my face,
from the residing fate in how my soul decides to waste
away before the eyes of the guards and spirits
cause apparitions reside in this cell of despair and good riddance.'

Living a lie is how this human soul came to be in prison
Thinkin he was hard when he was the one, no soul within
The demons saw how he could be seriously manipulated
Now he in for the next 12 years for the mere lust he wasted
Gifted? yes he is and was, now there's no canvas to decorate
An artist of his soul's fatality, he vows to make a better fate...

'Home, i summon it through mental linguistics,
come again? yes, i'm talkin to myself for these mystics
cause hearin me through walls is some psycho-shit.
Now guide me through this darkness to the fields where my home is.'

Guided by scarred phalanges he traces his past inscripted
In the darkness his art is lifted off the wall like braille of the gifted
Given to soul drawing out good hidden in it's lost resevoir
Takin out a hidden kitchen knife now he's bent on impressin' more
Tracin the raised ridges of his 'pen's' ditches he starts where he left off
Drawing on a rooms soul leaving an impression to those who scoff

'Nights go by quicker with a blessing of a creative mind,
this is a wack rappers success story, but it's a failure of mine.
Locked in a special room, for a special fool, i seek blessin's, too.
Now give me strength to proceed outside this cocoon of saving grace, soon.'

The Pharisees are back knocking at the door, gears grind
Now the doors unlocked and opened back into fears mind
Picking Him up they carry him back to the infirmary then to his cell
hunger pangs strike his stomach's core, soon he'll have food and feel well


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 15, 2008



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