FreeZeke.org

Dedication	Memories of Love
White Linen Suit	Flying
History	Masquerade
If They Ever Let Me Go	View to the World
Life	Sounds in the Wind
My Demons	From Afar
Sanctuary	His Loss

---

Dedication

When I was small

She held me close, as if

I were part of her.

I was totally safe.

She held my arms as

I learned to walk.

She never let me fall.

She combed my hair

and tied my shoes.

She kissed me

and put me down.

She took me to school my first day.

I was brave on the outside, but

That’s all anyone saw,

except for her.

When I left for college

she was upset.

Her end of the job

was nearly done.

Making light of her distress,

I didn’t understand.

I had finished growing,

but only physically.

It would be a few years

before I caught on.

When I was little,

he seemed to be bigger

than he really was.

He carried me on his shoulders,

picked me up with one arm,

and taught me how to throw a ball.

While I was growing up,

he solved my problems,

taught me times-tables,

showed me boy scout knots.

told me the facts of life.

As I matured to adulthood

he gave me sound advice.

He helped me choose a college.

We talked about careers

and marriage.

In their younger days

they were quick and strong.

Now they are stooped and

tire easily. Health problems

used to be of little concern.

At some point, they took on

a new dimension.

There is no use trying to pretend.

Unless there is a world to come,

they cannot last forever.

I have no choice but to hope

that I will see them again.

The alternative is too painful.

Long after they are gone

I will see them.

Their loving smiles

grant me benediction.

---

White Linen Suit

Their first complaint

was diminished status.

After defeat in war,

sanctions were too severe.

Power would restore

their standing

among the nations.

Their insidious motive

was easy to see, but

only if one looked.

Few of consequence were willing to look,

not Kennedy, not Lindberg,

not even the Bishop of Rome.

Some supported

this moral compromise

to contain the eastern horde.

People with no strategic

consequence, lesser beings,

were a small price to pay.

In a Faustian agreement,

innocence was sacrificed

to secure “peace in our time.”

Those who warned against

the rising tide of Fascism

were called alarmists.

Fear of ridicule

precluded the use of wisdom.

The fatal tragedy

was easy to predict.

His “Struggle” made it clear.

Despite these clear warnings

it was dismissed as too extreme.

Few spoke up. The courage

simply wasn’t there.

The world turned a blind eye

to the slaughter of millions.

With no danger recognized

asylum wasn’t granted.

Plausible deniability

authorized a grand cover up.

Even the Red Cross

reinforced the charade.

When the pretense was exposed

phony excuses were contrived.

In the wake of

worldwide devastation

humanity recoiled, pledging

it would never happen again.

Embracing human rights,

the world created the UN.

History would never repeat itself.

Stalin was not called to account.

He was hardly challenged.

Those who did

lived shortened lives.

Mao conducted a cultural revolution.

Millions were annihilated.

For many years, a billion people

were lost to the world.

Papa Doc used the Ton ton Mahouts.

Pinochet made torture legal.

Argentina set a record

for missing persons. Yet again,

the world looked the other way.

Apartheid, so blatantly evil

survived for too many years.

Pol Pot slaughtered people

in the “fields.”

In the land of the free

separate but equal

was the law of the land.

An evil empire was invisible

because prejudice did not exist!

A white linen suit stood

in the doorway to exclude

a deserving black student.

On the news, experts told us

that intervention made sense

solely for strategic reasons.

People were worth saving, but only

in the name of “national interest.”

Human life alone never qualifies.

Repeatedly refusing to

acknowledge ugly events,

we find it easier

to delude ourselves

with flimsy excuses.

From cowardice and selfish motives,

the world always passes the buck.

Those who commit the acts

bear primary guilt.

There are monsters

who renounced their humanity.

Those who merely acquiesce

cannot avoid the sin of complicity

through silence and refusal to act.

Moral liability cannot be escaped

on a technicality.

The white linen suit

was late asked

the key to his long success.

With candor he replied,

“I always told them

what they wanted to hear.”

Shakespeare wrote of this man

and his kind,

“The prince of darkness

is a gentleman.”

---

History

From ancient times,

kingdoms were hereditary.

The first time around,

mistakes were allowed.

Caligula practiced excess.

Rome learned its lesson well.

The job was passed to Nero

Weimer surrendered to

the swastika. Il Duce

crushed the helpless.

Fifty year ago, we

should have learned

from our mistakes.

The Gulags sequestered millions

Mao “re-educated” billions.

Other malevolent leaders

exploited and plundered

the people they ruled.

The answer was bigger

and better guns

to keep the world safe

for democracy. Killing continued

in the name of G-d

and other self-serving causes.

We still face

ethnic cleansing and rape

as tools of war.

We are getting better

and we are getting worse.

---

If They Ever Let Me Go

If and when they let me go

I won’t know what to do first.

To get it right

I must retrace my steps

from many years ago.

To move forward,

the past must be relived.

While painful, there is

no alternative.

If they ever let me go

I want to choose my own clothes.

If they ever let me go

I want to cook for myself.

If they ever let me go

I hope to fall in love.

If they ever let me go

I will be a pilgrim

exploring a new world,

a little boy at

the candy counter,

deciding how to spend

his last dime.

But by the, my last dime

will barely be worth a nickel.

If they ever let me go…..

---

Life

For other prisoners, each day they do

gets them closer to their next life.

Each day I do get me closer to the end

of the only life I have.

Others think about hat they will do

when they leave.

They plan.

They hope.

They think about girlfriends and wives.

I just grow old.

The sentence was life.

The exact words were,

“the balance of your natural life.”

Since that day so many years ago,

my life has been anything but natural

The judge’s words left me numb.

At first, the true weight of his words

was beyond my grasp.

I wasn’t ready to understand.

Appeals and a different political atmosphere

left room for credible hope.

Then politics and the courts slowly changed.

The historical clock began to move

counterclockwise.

I woke up one morning

and the pretense was gone.

Surrender was not complete

but I know.

The told me I was lucky to be spared.

What do they know?

They are not wrong.

They are dead wrong.

That morning, I woke up

to discover the truth.

I am buried alive.

---

My Demons

Confinement means

a life along.

Contact is limited

with family and friends.

Visits are short, even

for the lucky few.

But your main partner

is conscience.

Learn to like him

and tolerate him.

He won’t be ignored

and you cannot kill him.

He’s always in the mirror

calling you a fool.

Alone at night,

in my little box,

I am forced to recall

my many mistakes.

I am made to review

a lifetime of regret

and lost opportunities.

I’ve learned to lessons

and reviewed them repeatedly.

I will never forget.

I ask them where they were

before the fact. They

watched the whole time,

as events occurred.

They mock my criticism.

Smiling, sardonically,

they imply that I

should know better.

Demons never warn.

Their main job is to say,

“I told you so.”

Problems arise

that defy resolution.

I try to ignore them

But I am overruled.

Then I try to flee, to

drift into painless rest.

It doesn’t work. Want to

or not, I ruminate.

These thoughts refuse eviction.

I ask them to leave \and they laugh.

They tell me,

“Spectators get no say!”

---

Sanctuary

I was in a meadow near a stream.

The flowing water produced

steady, soothing music,

keeping me at ease. There was

a sweet scent of flowers

making me feel fresh and clean.

Avery old self likeness

entered my view.

I don’t know how he got there.

he simply arrived.

The music stopped.

He scolded me for coming here

so often. I claimed

my need for release.

He answered that escape

is mere idleness, that

I was in my private world

far too long.

I need this imaginary paradise

to escape my conscious world.

My House is not a cheerful place.

It is a way station

people pass through, going

from one life to another.

I am a permanent resident

Of this loud, busy intersection.

I’m on a train that never leaves.

When I first came to purgatory

I was young and spry, but

they kept me here too long.

My hair turned gray

like wood consumed to ash,

my face lined

with sorrow and pain.

In this room I became old

waiting for a real life

to recommence.

My soul needs sanctuary.

He challenged my reasoning,

assuring me

that my sun

will shine someday,

that the wind

will dissipate my grief.

But I know the rain

will not erase the pain.

If only I could

turn back the clock.

The pleasant images

are so enticing. But

I cannot escape reality.

Painful memories are part of me,

producing sadness and regret.

I come to my meadow

as long as my dreams allow.

I spend my time

by the calming creek.

So, consider, old man,

if I am to reach your age,

I must continue these visits.

My soul needs sanctuary.

He left and the music returned.

---

Memories of Love

After all these years

I still summon

your lovely vision.

I see you in

Your alluring youth.

Long absence has left me

with this last picture.

Most likely

you are still beautiful,

In a different way.

But I never imaging

the effects of time.

I recall my last memory.

I used to miss you as a partner.

But, I’ve been alone too long.

I am satisfied to reminisce.

Intense feelings

do not continue

after the fact. But

affection never recedes.

It lasts a life time.

There was a time

when I missed love.

But being alone

made life simpler

a habit I won’t renounce.

Friends tell me

that when I leave here

my feelings will change-

that desire will reawaken

I don’t think so.

Memories are enough.

---

Flying

I saw him in the yard.

Sitting in the stands

he gently smiled at the sky.

When I asked him

what he was doing

he said he was flying,

and offered to show me how.

At first I declined.

When he smiled at the sky

I wondered where he was

whether he hear anything,

or just saw silent visions.

At first I thought

he was odd

that he was losing it.

We all worry about

how much we can take.

We just don’t know

where that point is.

He found perfect release.

His fuse never burned.

He described his voyages.

He floated among

large white clouds.

He traveled to foreign lands,

rode horses with Mongols,

danced with Cossacks,

and walked along the Seine.

He knew how to go

wherever he wanted.

He had no limits.

A man ended his life.

Falling four stories

his body was mangled.

Blood was everywhere.

A riot took place in the yard.

Several were injured. Again,

blood was everywhere.

We were affected deeply

and very upset.

Not he. Smiling,

He looked away.

The next day

I started flying lessons.

---

Masquerade

Your world is full

of countless treasures,

locked away from me.

They are old photos,

dim in my memory,

that become harder

to remember with time.

I pray for deliverance,

for a complete life.

But that can’t happen.

Nothing grows in this ground

but sadness and despair.

Since my diet consists

of these elements,

I survive, but

I cannot live.

The fences form

a continuous shadow,

created by the glow

of the tower lights.

These dark sentries

keep me secluded

on my small island.

I know of beauty.

I read about.

I see it on TV. But

I never touch it.

I suffer like the

blind and deaf.

I wear a mask

to hide my sorrow.

There is no reason

to infect others

with my misery.

The mask helps most

When I look in the mirror.

Better to pretend

Than face reality.

This pretense has

served me well.

It got me from

yesterday to today.

And maybe, even,

to tomorrow.

---

View to the World

I take it all in from my window.

Where my view ends imagination begins.

I am not always sure where that line is.

In the yard the activity is redundant.

Men lift weights, play basketball,

job around the track,

or mill around and talk.

At the edge of the yard

a double fence keeps us in.

The loops of razor wire remind us

that our days are endless circles

always returning

to the same beginnings.

Beyond the fence are young trees

swaying in the wind.

Further out and higher up

older trees blanket the hills.

In the distance

the towering mountains

touching the sky

pay homage to the beauty of nature.

Climbers take up the challenge

to get closer to heaven.

Above the mountains cotton clouds

travel freely across the sky

coming and going as they please.

From behind my porthole

I observe the parts of life

beyond my reach.

I close my eyes and imagine.

I hope that when I open them

I will be somewhere else,

beholding an open landscape.

---

Sounds in the Wind

Just before they mow the lawns,

the grass is long enough

to bend in the wind.

It is pleasant

and allows me to imagine.

There are trees beyond the fence.

I love the sound of the wind

whispering through the leaves.

In winter, the whisper becomes

a relentless how.

Inside, the concrete sameness

offers nothing, sidewalks and buildings,

all made of the same hard materials.

They make no sound in the wind.

---

From Afar

Far away tree tops

create interesting silhouettes.

Their distance allows me

to fill in my own detail.

In winter, the skeletal frames

describe the plight

of the poor and homeless.

In lighter moods, I travel back

to Mickey mouse and dancing brooms

favorites of a little boy long age.

In spring, the trees are blessed with renewal,

and become vibrant again.

Buds preceding the leave

recall the energy and vitality of youth.

In summer, the leaves create fuller images.

Their abundance restores me.

The top branches tilting slowly in the wind

are the pious praying at the wall.

They bend rather than break.

In autumn I witness the beautiful colors.

Playing in the leaf mounds raked up by my dad,

I collected the yellow and red ones.

This memory sustains me.

Before my fall I noticed trees

for only a moment here and there.

They were close at hand,

a smaller part of a bigger life.

Now the opposite is true.

Far from me on the other side,

their distance gives me an insight

I never had before.

---

His Loss

We clean the windows together every day.

It’s our little ritual.

Rituals are important

to old men doing forever.

Recently, he lost his sister.

She was loving and loyal from the start.

For more than thirty years

She was always there.

He always talked of spending time with her.

They would sit in her garden when he was free.

Lost time would be made up for.

As he told me his bad news

I saw his eyes were wet.

Then my eyes moistened too.

We stood there silently for a minute.

Then he started cleaning windows again.

So I did too.

"Clarence . . . Clarence Miller did this to me." George Wilhelm's dying declaration to police, February 9, 1976 (T.T. 1528).

". . . Goldblum was not the individual who inflicted the fatal stab wounds on Mr. George Wilhelm." Dr. Cyril Wecht, Coroner of Allegheny County in letter to Board of Pardons, September 1, 1994; Henry Lee, Ph.D., report dated February 25, 1997.

"This is the one case in 21 years [as a judge] which seriously troubles my conscience about the result." The Honorable Donald Ziegler as quoted in Michael Bucsko, Judge Haunted by Dying Man's Last Sentences, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, February 5, 1995.