I'm enslaved by these words,
in the cages of these pages.
My thoughts are shackled
by unforgiving metaphors
and vile rhapsodies
As I wait for Liberty to
contemplate my fate,
for freedom to scream my name,
for my skin to shed this layer
of shame.
While Time takes its time,the pages slowly turn,
the ink dries,
the chains rust
and I emerge
out of this metal cocoon,
armed with chisiled mementos
of yesterday's glistening
defeat.
I'm well on my way
to becoming a Wordsmith.