Own prison

Long in the chamber have I waited,

my vexes and fears still non-sedated.

This lonely cell embraces the dark.

The flight from it I wish to embark.

You there, can you not see my hand?

From the gap, I ravenously wave my hand.

In the night shines my ghostly pale hand,

a beacon that shows across the land.

 

In the dim candle light I detect

a silhouette, off silver does reflect.

In every motion it chooses to emulate.

My empty shell’s shifts it does simulate.

You there, can you not see my feet?

They dangle over the lofty rim, my feet.

Flailing in the crisp deep night are my feet,

waiting for the warm free land to meet.

 

Solely I plea for some help in rescue.

Solely I beg for it to come to view.

Do not pass by my desolate, dismal cell.

Do not pass me by without any avail!

You there, can you not see my tears?

Running out of wounded eyes, my tears.

Crying out from wrongful acts, my tears.

Imprisoned am I for all these years.