San Quentin

Thieves come against locks
on windows, locks on doors.
Your heart can't be stolen
when you give it away.

If your hand be extended,
an inmate befriended,
the crime of isolation
caves in.

At the bars or behind 'em,
lonely is where you find 'em,
the trouble on their faces
is a sin.

We pretend we can't be busted,
convince ourselves we're trusted, but
it's only by His Grace
they let us in.

His Light is not to blind them,
your smile never random,
start by trading places
from within.

Will SchmitComment