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From Lamp of Hope: http://www.lampofhope.org/az127252.html
My name is Kyle David Sharp. I
am a 31-year-old man, born and
raised in a small farming town
in central Indiana. I absolutely love
all things outdoors, and spend
the greater part of my time these
days reading, writing articles
for newspapers and magazines, and
drawing. I like to read about
and study history and world religions
primarily, but I also enjoy a
good novel now and then. My musical
interests range from classical
to bluegrass to some rock, but I also
like to listen to music outside
the mainstream, such as Japanese
Flute and Native Drum Songs. Send
me a letter if you wish to talk
about some of the interests I
have shared, or if you want to know
more about me personally. I will
answer all questions and will
respond immediately to your letter.
I am simply someone who
loves people and wants to correspond
with you on a regular basis
regardless of age, race, sex or
sexual preference. I am currently on
Death Row, and welcome all interested.
Thank you for your time and attention
to my letter. I look forward
eagerly to your response.
Most Sincerely
Kyle D. Sharp #127252
Arizona State Prison, SMU II
PO Box 3400
Florence, AZ 85232-3400
USA
Introduces:
Kyle D. Sharp #127252
Arizona State Prison-Eyman, SMU 2
PO Box 3400
Florence, Arizona 85232-3400
Birthdate: 08/27/1970
Release Date: Death Row
Physical Description: 6', 220 lbs., black
hair, brown eyes, (Native American:
Cherokee-Miami)
Interests: Nature, history, religion,
science, sports, art, poetry, reading,
music (all types), chess, writing
Short Statement: "Prison time"
However short pr long, informs your consciousness until the day you
die. You
will always know what it is like it be cast out by society, To be isolated
from
your loved ones and in many cases not allowed to tough them if they
come to
visit you. You will always know the power flourishes at the expense
of love;
You will always remember the rhythmic, metallic clink of keys bouncing
against the thigh of the keeper as he marches down the corridor counting
human heads.
I recall many hours spent on my bunk, scribbling into a notebook, the
noise and
squalor of the unit blocked from consciousness while I search for the
right
words to put on the page. It is an escape of sorts. While
I am writing, I am not in
prison. "They have my body, but they cannot wrap their chains
around my mind."
Religious Preference: None, but will respond to all
See some of my poetry below
Dawning
First there
was darkness,
Deep black, enveloping sweetness,
Barely visible were pinpricks of hope
Then they too fade into grayness.
Finally, the rich velvety cloth of night,
Encompasses all of
the world.
The world sits waiting like a bride at the
altar
waiting, sweating, fidgeting-with hidden
anxieties.
Seconds slip like hours, or years-in
darkness.
Then with a touch of grace and
glory
the sun's rays sweep across the
sky,
The darkness is again limited to shadows
Before the greatness of the
dawn.
Yet, how many soils
slip away
in the last seconds of the
night?
Their minds heady with the scent of the
sweat of their fears.
Do they cry as despair, as
I have
"Please, 3, Let there
be light?
We Reach
Our Children
We teach children to tell the truth.
And admit when they do wrong.
(And we sentenced him
to die
for
the wrong he did)
We teach our children not to hit back.
That violence begets
violence.
(And we shot
him up today)
We teach our children
to run
in
the other direction,
When faced beliefs and principles.
(And stood by idly until his death was
pronounced)
We teach our children that at times we
don't like,
Their actions,
but will
always love them.
(And we hail our legal system for it's
"Tough Love")
We teach our children to show remorse,
And
say, "I'm sorry".
(And sometimes, "I'm sorry" Isn't enough)
We always teach our
children.
Seasons
In The Woods
My house lies in the midst of a dense woods.
Every years the spring ivy grows longer.
No cares for
men's affairs;
Only the happy songs the woodpecker.
When the sun comes up, I tend my chores.
When the moon comes out, I write my
poems.
Listen closely to the cicadas singing in the
trees
And the water chuckling in the forest creek.
See how the night's showers
has
washed
the world clean.
Although I have little food no my kitchen
table,
I offer you a window full of this fresh air.
Now in August a cool breeze arrives.
Wild geese head south across the sky.
Like them, I wander at my own pace,
Down green and hilly roads, full of joy.
If I meet someone, I stop to enjoy its
company.
With what can I compare this life-
Weeds floating on water, blown by gentle
breeze.
From walking my woods, searching for
firewood,
I return home at sunset, tired but happy.
Frozen snow covers the treetops near my
house.
All roads to my woods are blocked to man.
Listen as the snowflakes brush my window.
On a spring night, the moon shines in a
silver haze,
As I walk along, taking it
all in.
The slightest whisper breaks the silence-
The ducks fly off, beating their delicate
wings.
Warblers whistle to me from windblown
maples.
dogs words define this feeling surging
though me.
My heart flutters excitedly, totally
overwhelmed.
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