In The Echos Of Silent Confinement
Does crystallized carbon feel the pressure that
transforms it into diamonds?
Does gold cry out as heat purifies it by refinement?
You can hear the whines and whistles of a machine
when its gears are out of alignment;
But can you hear my screams of pain from sitting in
this hell-cell as it echoes in my silence?
Look closely, do you see the crevices in my cheeks
made by invisible tears?
If you sprayed carbon on my face those tears would
crystallize and appear.
So does that mean that I cry diamonds,
Created from the pressures of confinement?
Is this furnace of solitude purifying my Soul,
Ridding it of impurities and gilding it with gold?
Is Time the designated mechanic of my Mind,
Working to realign its gears in accordance to its
It seems that in the echoes of my silence I’m being
refined by confinement;
Buried deep in the quartz veins of a system that
doesn’t even acknowledge
That they’re turning dirt Souls into gold
And carbon copies of men into diamonds.