Prisoners

by
Phil Cerasoli

The most powerful shackles that bind a man
are the ones placed upon him by his own mind.


      PRISONERS
      by Phil Cerasoli

      My old Italian nonna was a prisoner of her mind
      As she dreamed of her Italia and the world she left behind
      To come here to America and finish out her life
      By rocking in her rocking chair and be a silent wife.

      She'd rock and read her Bible and sometimes feed a treat
      To her tired and aging half-blind dog, laying at her feet.
      In feeble-voiced Italian, she'd tell me now and then,
      How she longed to see Italia but never would again.

      And I'd see the corners of her eyes fill with silent tears
      As her mind relived the memories of all her bygone years.
      Some forty years have come and gone since nonna passed away
      But if I close my eyes and try, I see her still today

      Sitting in her kitchen; her Bible in her lap;
      She seals her eyes in sadness and drops off in a nap
      To dream of her Italia and the world she left behind,
      Forever doomed to memories; a prisoner of her mind.

      And I see a lot of nonna in folks I know today
      Who think about the way things were and waste another day.
      'Cause an hour spent deep in reverie is an hour that could be spent
      Reaching for tomorrow and the goals which God had meant

      For all of us to strive for and work hard to attain.
      And it hurts me when I see a man whose face is etched with pain
      Of unforgotten yesterdays that have made his dreams turn blind
      And I know that he's a prisoner; a prisoner of his mind.

      Copyright 2001 - Phil Cerasoli

Return to Phil Cerasoli Homepage Return to Phil Cerasoli HomePage

If you have ideas or suggestions to improve this site, contact: webmaster@jimpinto.com
Copyright 2000 : Jim Pinto, San Diego, CA, USA