Welcoming arms and warmth and light.
The men around me sleep, and they find comfort in their beds.
In their sheets and in their dreams,
In the knowledge that they are not alone—
that they are never alone—
And that they never were.

They dream of absolution.
They sing for it, pray for it, whisper it in their sleep,
And I listen.
But aware.
Acutely aware, and afraid.
They read from their books in the light from beyond the bars
And they see compassion in those fine, fragile pages.
They read hope. Light. Life.

My eyes see none of this.
My traitorous, faithless eyes,
Whose flat depths have seen murder, bloodshed, and who know—
who do not question—
What awaits them
And why.

I am blind to their ethereal light,
Stuck with these traitorous, faithless eyes
That see only what is there,
And nothing more.
Though I try.

I see only what these treacherous, near-sighted eyes allow me to see.
The end.
And it scares me.

Looking through these faithless eyes
Would you be afraid to die?

Author's Note: That would be my first ever poem for Creative Writing, due tomorrow, 9/1/05. Finally completed after three failed short story attempts. Yeah...I need two pages of short story or two poems and I'm procrastinating on starting the next one...

Author's Note II: Can everyone tell this is about an athiest on death row? I dunno if the death row part is obvious, but I tried to show that he's an athiest without blatantly coming out and saying it. Critique not only welcomed, but desperately needed. This is only my first attempt, and I'll have to turn in the final draft at the end of the month. o.o Point out anything you think could make it better, please, or I shall die, I just know it.

Author's Note III: Wow, it's so strange not adding a disclaimer and a warning...