A Prisoner’s Wince

By AR

While I’m here, enslaved against my own will, as is only punishable by law and remains…
Surely, we sacrifice our freedom in search of financial gain, notoriety, fame.
To leave ourselves vulnerable to what is determined Justice by the powers that reign…

Wincing at the recollection of past acquaintances and associates
That in midst of chasing riches ended up being slain.
Faith has once been described as taking a step without seeing the staircase.
Though I haven’t glimpsed at hellfire, often I flinch from the Flame…

I find myself in the company of those with diseased hearts or that are labeled insane,
And ask myself: If birds of a feather flock together, and right now we’re locked together, am I amongst, or am I the same?

Anger motivating my moves, so for fuel I’m currently embracing the pain…
Solemnly swears by whom I strive for that I sit in Joy when it rains.
For it drowns the sound of enemies and victims; the endless shouts of my name…

Yes…I reside in a cage.
Still, you question my rage.
I read the same letter twice and found ten different meanings.
In a dark cell accompanied by prisoners screaming…
Sure to taint your innocence if I showed you what my sight once did see.
Contemplating a theory countless times over:
That had my body been incarcerated, would my mind be free?