Amerika... Are We Free

I often wonder, that in the land where freedom rings,
Why does pain and suffering it also bring?
Because the only ringing I hear is a baton against my bars
As I stare out the window, beyond the day to its stars.
Eyes closed wishing & praying as often as I might,
I still must fall asleep, within a cell every night.
Hoping when I wake, that it was nothing but a dream,
Yet nothing in my life is now as it may seem.
Loved ones passing, as I stay locked inside of a cage,
Working a job that pays less the 1% of minimum wage,
Walking on the yard, as shots ring out from over head,
Saying a silent prayer, hoping that no one else is dead.
"The joint" is locked down over an argument on the yard.
Not a fist was thrown, yet the whole "joint" is scarred.
Commissary denial, and visitation is restricted.
"On the new," they holler, another man has been convicted.
Everyone around me is doing maximum time.
Once free & now trapped, like a box & it's mine
Silently and desperately, trying to find some way out.
While dry tears escape my eyes as I scream silent shouts.
So anyone whom claims that Amerika is the land of the free,
They don't know a single thing, about the life that surrounds me!