Breaking Rocks In The Sun

(And then I met Joe....)


I survived the ravages of poverty,
Did my time in the Hell of the Projects,
I learned to work the welfare system
Just enough to keep my little family alive.
I crawled up from the very bottom,
Left behind many who chose
To love life in the septic tank.
I even walked away
From my own marriage
Because I knew he was content
With that way of death.

Poverty is a prison,
There is no time off
For good behaviour,
No parole, no pardon.

But there is always Hope-
And I held onto it with a vise-like grip,
Counting the days, the weeks, the months...
The years...

Then I met a fellow inmate,
And we made an escape plan,
We kept it secret,
Knowing those who were institutionalized
Would do all they could to help us fail.
Slowly, painfully, we dug.
Every inch a struggle,
Every breath choked with dirt,
Every muscle strained to its limit,
We dug.  We fought, We hoped.

And then, glorious Light!
We broke free, into the bright sun,
And we ran, and vowed to never go back.

The howls and shrieks from our former associates
Raised an alarm, sirens blaring, guns drawn,
We were hunted by guards
Who were no less twisted and rotted inside
Than the people they lorded over.

But we were under strong protection,
And little did anyone know,
We had friends on the outside
Who helped us along
The Underground Road to Stability, to Comfort.

And now, we stand,
Free, unchained
From the shackles of misery,
Still with hope, full of life,
And we know there is no force on Earth
That can steal this unbridled power
Of two who have served their time.