Reflections

About the Book

Come on tour through the mind of a man who explores and records the raw and uncensored "emotion" behind experiences in his reality. Born and raised in Richmond, CA, a small but dangerous city located in the East Bay area, Demetrius gives us a unique and enlightened insight into the "dynamics" that lie behind what many consider to be typical inexcusable behavior... but what others consider to be purpose and life.

The author paints pictures through poetry that suggests there may be a deep turbulence and struggle within us all that is interconnected, regardless of race, demographic, or class.

"Reflections" examines life's struggle from several angles, but mainly from a worldly position of turmoil". In every instant, in every poem, there is an emotional truth that gives life to the words and the stories they present.

"Reflections" tells a story, from the arrangement of the poems to the poetry itself that demands the reader's attention. A simple, but thought provoking book, "Reflections" offers many jewels for the honest reader.

Warning: an open mind and unbiased eye "are required" for this read, otherwise, the message and purpose may be missed.

A Whisper Within the walls

Listen to the walls
And you can hear the grief
Of the oppressed,
The Imprisoned,
The Abused,
The misused.
In the light of the day
You may see smiles,
Frowns, Smirks of thee usual clowns,
But by night,
A man cannot run from his emotion
Nor escape his essence.
The fake smiles, they disappear.
The frown now scares the face
Which once carried it
To intimidate peers.
No, smirks,
Just tears.
So many Tears...
So many tears...

A percentage of the proceeds will go to a foundation supporting the growth of inner city youth

About the Author

Where I am today is nothing sort of miraculous when considering the journey that was laid before me beginning on the 7th day of November, in 1974.

I entered this world as a gift to a twenty-year-old, headstrong, pride filled, beautiful young woman. As the result of a poisonous love that she shared with a considerably older man I came to be. However, my "father" never considered the potential of what he chose to partake in creating, but not in knowing or raising.

The obvious curse, but yet to be revealed gift was present and felt in man many instances starting early on in my life. Though my younger brother's father was present to "fill the position" the void remained, and added other elements that only complicated my inner struggle.

By the age of fourteen I had been learning to fill the vacancies of my life in the ways that young black males typically do when they're lost and in need of guidance and meaning- by running the streets and embracing their lessons with open arms. It was also at this age that I was first introduced to transferring my feelings to paper. This came about courtesy of my probation officer. He, along with my mother believed that writing may open the doors of my mind to others.

By the age of eighteen I had friends in the suburbs and the projects. I had visited crackhouses and mini-mansions, been acquainted with women who were as lost as I, and with girls who were full of potential and focused on their futures. The best of two worlds but I got lost somehow between the two and ended up with life in prison for murder.

My life in prison has been spent learning me and studying others. Some of my most profound questions have been answered- my deepest feelings understood. My blood, my sweat, bruises, and tears all have meaning now. Meaning that I struggle to find, that's forever present in the people of my world.

No- I wouldn't claim my life in prison has "always" been spent consciously trying "to get it"- especially in the beginning. But, the same understanding and meaning that I sought as a young boy, I sought as a young man. "Why'- has always been a question that I asked myself because nothing ever made sense. Childhood friends died as kids, mothers smoked crack in the presence of their children, my relationship with my parents wasn't ideal, and here I am in prison when my aim was college.

Why? Why? Why? No matter how I posed this question it led "me" back to "me". Too proud to ask for assistance with my inner struggle, plus I never thought anyone could understand my perspective. I continued to do what always worked, I wrote to me, for me. In this way I could be honest with who I was talking with. Situations I felt strongly about, I wrote about. People who intrigued me, who were either out of reach, or out of touch, found a way into my writings.

I've been described as an old soul, said to be "special" and capable of greatness. No, I never understood the meanings of these observations by others, nor did I contemplate them. Now, as I became more settled into myself and focused on my life, I recognized the power I am capable of sharing. Not as a writer, but as an intelligent man who's been blessed with the ability to articulate my thoughts on to paper. There's a passion inside of me to see people overcome their inherent struggles and this is what I will bring to my world until the day my last breath is released.