I was told, somewhere in this great mansion of life there’s a room that I could call my own. So I try my key from floor to floor in it’s many doors only to find myself unable to open any of them. To lie in the bed I was promised and close my eyes and finally rest is the only thing that keeps me searching through this annoyingly huge house. How many floors and doors can there be?… Jeez, Subhanallah I’m so tired… Yeah, Maybe I’ll just lay on the carpet here and call it a journey so I can get some sleep… Forget that damned bed.

Published by Pack Redfeather

I am a walking contradiction of traditions some say. An African American and Native American Muslim poet with a personal life history as violently turbulent as a Storm. A visionary from the bottom of life’s social barrel striving to share the hope found in the light of faith through sometimes dark but real poetry. I’m a former member of the Bloods street gang, former serial bank robber, and both federal/state prison convict. I live on my mother’s tribal reservation of the Leech Lake band of Ojibwe in Minnesota.

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