On February 1, 1994, Amazing Grace brought Julie Payne into my life, from thousands of miles away both the Atlantic and Indian Oceans. Somehow Julie had found out that I was on Death Row here in the United States and that I wouldn't mind corresponding with a pen-friend. In her first letter Julie wrote, "I love to write letters and get to know people, so I thought to myself, "Julie, write a letter to this guy and who knows it may be the beginning of a lovely friendship!" Who would have known that Julie's words would become just as true as the Gospels? In a short period of time, Julie's and my friendship became that of a story book fantasy. We lived in a world of our own, where race, creed or color has no meaning. the love that we shared made Jim Crow, Sr. turn over in his grave and made the very-much=alive Jim Crow, Jr. wash away the evil customs that have been embedded in him since birth.

It was Amazing Grace. How sweet it was?

Together we planted a seed, gave it water and sunshine plentiful. When I told Julie that I was a Blacken, the child of slaves, and wrongly sentenced to death, she replied by giving me some history of Australia: how over 200 years ago, the country was founded as a colony of Britain fir its convicted felons--many of whom were innocent and poor. as for facing death, she said, we have something in common; the monster of cancer was eating her away. On somewhat common grounds, with a colorful history, what sprouted from the seed we planted was beautiful--sweeter than honey.

It was Amazing Grace that brought us through...

In a time of need, I could always, without question turn to Julie, for her ears and arms were always open. If she didn't have the answer, she didn't pretend that she did. Always honest, always faithful: that was Julie. On the other side of the globe, my ears and arms were always open to Julie. Together we walked through the gates of hell and back without being scorched. From this man made tomb of torture called Death Row, where it is sometimes so silent you can hear yourself breathe, I created the most mind-blowing gathering of words and air-mailed them to my Snowbound (the affectionate pet name I gave Julie). In return, Snowbound matched me word for word. She became the air beneath my wings that I wasn't receiving here at State side. Julie taught me that although a pawn is thought of as a chess piece to be easily sacrificed, it could also be the most powerful piece on the board if used correctly.

Amazed? Not me, for it was Grace....

Not once in all the time I was corresponding with Julie did she ever send me one red cent. What she did send was more valuable than cash-flow. She sent me a part of herself-a treasure that cannot be traded or sold.

Truly Amazing

I'm told that a few days before your death, Julie, that you had stopped putting thoughts in the daily journal that you kept. And that all you could do was draw colorful rainbows. At about the same time, I looked out of my cell window to see the most breathtaking rainbow cutting across the dark sky, with colors brighter than new Crayola crayons. As a writer and sometimes poet, I tried to express on paper what my eyes had seen, but I was lost for words. I now know that the rainbow I saw was your gracious exit to the heavens above.

Julie, you will be missed immensely. But my mind shall rest easy, knowing that you're in a better place than this cold, cruel, heartless world. I shall take comfort in the hundreds of letters I have from you. Whenever I have a question, I know that somewhere within them I can find an answer. Into each life some rain must fall, but when the rain does fall, it doesn't mean one must be sad. It is in the rain that Julie and I walked hand in hand, making fine memories.

Kevin D. Peltzer #BC-9251
SCI Greene/Death Row
1040 E. Roy Furman Highway
Waynesburg, PA 15370-8090

Author's note:
After I lost my pen friend Julie Payne, I didn't think that I could even open my heart again. Now after 1 1/2 years I know that I must go on. Please take me out of Dark Sorrow and make me your pen-friend.

"Where Goes Love"

"Ya Mama", six letters, two words
Words that once would have cost one a thorough swift beat down or maybe even death.
Mama was once and still remains to a chosen few what is Holy,
What is Pure, what is not to be played with.

Mama gave ya birth, fed you your first meal, with milk from her tender breast,
Rocked ya to sleep, talking sweet nothings, ya was to young to understand the words,
but yet took warmth in her breath.

It was Mama who came running to your crib every time you cried out,
whether twelve midnight or noon, Mama was always there for you.
In the deprived ghetto, Mama is Queen, Teacher and Provider.
Push comes to shove, ya gave "Word to Ya Mom's before swearing to God.
It wasn't that ya was afraid to use God's name in vain.
Mama taught ya be not afraid of anything.

Mama is true, real, something you can see, something you can feel.
Before you became a teen,
Mama cooked cleaned and bathed you.
Not just because you was too young to do it yourself,
but because she luv you to the utmost.

Now that you are a man, you sass her, talk foul to her, put your hands up to fight her,
you have become a negga with an attitude. What happened?
How can you care more for your car than your Mama?
Have you forgotten before you knew a car, you rode first class in Mama's womb?
Before your ding-a-ling had a swing and you took up with the harlot of the hood,
you did number one and two in your diaper and Mama came running to wash you up,
lotion you down, puff you with powder. Before Nikes, Reeboks, Adidas and Karl Kani that you
now sport, Mama had you phat in Joy Kids and Buster Browns.

What changed?
Don't give me that shit that society made you the way you are.
The cold, cruel, disrespectful way that you treat your Mama
cannot be blamed on society.
Hell, Mama dealt with the same society, two fold, but yet, she kept you clean, warm, well fed
with the utmost of love. Not only did she do one helluva job; she did it with
honor, pride, dignity all in the absence of your poor excuse for a father.
I don't know, nor could I ever understand,
what happened to you, but I haven't forgotten who was with me from day one
(the planting of the seed),
My Mama, Earnestine "Tiny" Pelzer.
For all she has done for me, for all she has wished to have done for me,
I remain forever loyal to her, forever in her debt.
A warrior who will physically reduce anyone who dare dishonor her.
En-slave me, en-trap me, incapacitate me, dis-robe me, disrespect me,
de-sex me, six feet deep in a crude wooden box plant me never to grow,
But believe me.
Earnestine's Love For Life.
Kev. E. Love
Kevin Earnestine's Love

Dedicated to All Mothers of the World

About the Author:

Only nineteen years old when wrongly sentenced to death. Kevin has never given up hope of one day being back on the streets with his Mother. Kevin is a writer and a poet. Through his correspondence he works to better the lives of many and strives to be what Antonio Gramsei described as an "organic-intellectual. He possesses a self-taught critical acumen which he employs in the struggle for freedom, both his own and that of all other oppressed people. Anyone interested in writing Kevin can do so at the above address or email Dark Sorrow..

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