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The Green Mile poem by Rachel Fogle:
Standing by the window, dreaming of what never will be.
Realizing all that's been lost, and knowing what is to be.
You hear the cell doors open, you know it's not your turn.
The Green Mile always beckons, calling, calling still.
The lights they flicker from far above, another inmate long gone.
Until next rolls down that rode that The Green Mile just happens to pass along.
What one must think along that walk, many things I do suppose.
Of simple talks, and simple walks or a card game from long ago.
Questions sometimes linger, do we regret or pray to him?
I say some may, not me I'm no fool.
For when that Green Mile comes a callin, and the cell doors open for me,
No god of mine or any other, can change the fate befallen me.
It's when I walk down the Mile that my wish may just be,
for the mile to go on until it leads me to the sea.
There is no heaven or hell there, just miles & miles of sea.
And I can be content knowing he's forgotten me.
Although it may be foolish, it is my wish to be,
I'll just keep dreaming that somethings will always be.
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