The rope of yesterday too tight in my today
binds my hands together in static prayer-like mode
and tells how other lives in figure eight displays
can wind a lie and twist the truth to suffocate a soul.
I breathe for you the air denied, exhale only love, and draw from you unto myself the pain of freedom gone but too in life’s dark dungeon damp a sense of happiness can ooze from walls and doors and make from weak the strong. How many days, how many weeks, moments, even years, but time I measure thus; forefingers both and thumbs moving, always moving, from a triangle to a rectangle until no space between tells me release has come. And in the clouds a crown awaits and I will stand aside but here on earth I suffer, wait, and wish for you new air to breathe again belief in love and immortality decreed as our birthright by one who really cares. But you and I perhaps can be silent Gods unseen directing destiny merely by what we believe!
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