It is from inside the cell

that I write to you,

as I do everyday,

on the off

chance

that someone will revoke

the charge and set me

free

or finally come to their sentences

and order the execution.

I write to you out of hope

for either

and not be trapped alone

for a minute more

than I can bear, sweat

driven and festering

in a half state of perpetual ghost

state at the hands of those who run my state;

I have stated my innocence

the crime was fiction

and now every night

I write to you

to prove I still breathe.

I await the day

when the sentence is passed.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016