Are there languages that we know, but don’t know about?

This is a realistic horror about what the consquences are to crime.You always go in one way and come out another, hardened by the criminals you do time with.Society itself punishes you, hardens you and slaps you in with a bunch of convicts who know the rules of the game.You then become aware that you either do or die and inevitably become an even worse criminal than what you were when you went in, straying from all pupose, leading you down the devils path of enlightment. Perhaps we know someone like this,or have a family member like this, but no one ever likes to admit it as though they themselves are the ones that committed the crime.I wrote this for my brother.

A look at life from near the end zone.

Similar to another poem I have written about music.

How you feel about it.

Many a time, we think that our endeavors are limited and the goal unachievable,
when, in fact, the way remains wide open, if only the spirit is willing.

A real life situation that involved myself.

How good you are at games are measured in points.

When I opened my eyes I was sitting at a piano. I stared at the black and white keys in front of me, then at the music score sitting on the Piano stand.

Today as I walked past and looked at the gates I couldn’t even manage a smile. I sighed and looked through to the old building. It really did look old.