Before the Rust Sets in
It cuts a little at a time,
Wrists rounded by a string of red;
The handcuffs don’t let you pull away.
If you persist long enough,
The cold steel warms underneath the crusting blood.
And yet, you do not stop shivering.
The sunsets fade into the night; the starlight reflects in your eyes.
But you do not reach up; you cannot touch.
Nearby, so close, but never yours or mine.
They say the key is around here somewhere,
It is too dark for you to see.
The pain is familiar, but this fear isn’t mine.
The pulse slows and the bones weaken; you search and search.
The bracelet gleans off your sallow skin.
Until, one day, you pull --- and the metal remains.
You are nothing without your anchor.
Nothing without the rage.
Insignificant without the bloodied hands and yet...
...You exist.
Untethered, burning sand beneath your feet, you walk.
blinded no longer, by the dust in your eyes, you weep.
The tortured hands slowly open,
Revealing weak, faded lines.
Chained by circumstance, released by fate.
You stand in wilful silence, and think of all that remains.
The healing soul, the calming mind,
The pain that dulls at last.
And in that moment, the body ressurects,
Because the life within you can see,
The prison is gone and you are free.
#Let go
#hold on
#start again
#shackle and chsin