Trying to keep Hope Alive

I never dared to have faith while in prison,

death is so poetic here

And so is the contradiction of living between walls.

I never thought much when I saw an old candle with a bright flame,

until a few days ago

I spoke with an old man adorning a young spirit.

Charismatic, confident, and motivated

Outwardly overly optimistic

But I looked into his eyes for the first time the other day

As he spoke about the grandeur coming if we were to meet once free

I was took distracted by the way his irises are beginning to grey and yellow at the edges,

Product of 30-40 plus years in prison

His dream, amongst other things, is to become a producer

The paradox of hope inside of hell, he continues to amaze me

but I saw something deeper and more morbid deep in his focus

He played me a slew of beats, to which he has a few hundred created on his keyboard

But I sat there distracted

All I could think about is how thin of a thread he is holding onto

And one last rejection of freedom may cost him his most important beat of all

His heartbeat

Trying to keep hope alive