She lived in a prison trapped by her own demons
Far away on a land in the vacant city of Past
(This must be a new renaissance)
With its thousand over capacity of memories populating the country
They hiss and snarl and growl and tear at her clothes
Trying to get her to utter something
An apology or a plea, a command or a query
Say a prayer! Say a prayer! little girl in the prairie
Yet she will not break her silence
A stone wall set high above the cement floors of the four walls that were caging her in
She would not give up the strength she found
In the sliver of light that sneakily crept under the tight fit of her window sill
Every afternoon at 3pm when the sun was at its highest
So were her fears and doubts at their lowest
She had the name of Paula given by her ancestors
Who collected flowers of which pollens were distributed by bees
To their own specific ministries that thrived off of generosity and pure need to give
Yet at night the monsters came back to prey on her decaying bones that
Gave a home to the fatigued
Sensitive to every piece of sound she could collect in her ears
Looking around constantly wondering who’s there hiding behind every whisper of the wind
Psychotic laughter ate at her resolve, feeding from the tears they didn’t know will someday
**** them; she killed them with every desperate cry to her King
They knew not of a Prince of peace with glory and power and grandeur and majesty
Her hands grew weake but His remaidn strong throughout the years
They pushed back the walls that were falling
Based on the wrong foundations they couldn’t hold on to the weight on their shoulders
Pressing at every corner, every shoulder blade was a blade on its own, turning on itself
Like a jealous lover, they all fell away pointing their fingers indignantly
With an air of impudence with which they could not see or hear or think or imagine
Surely, they must have known of a God who could do wonders like use a stone as a destructive weapon against a Philistine?
All that was left of the cell where she was so untimely detained was smoke and ashes
Scent of old and Past – a receding memory from a warrior’s victory
It no longer held captive the prisoner it once held
So closely
So dearly
In its arms
Safe and sound she goes back to her Father's arms
Trapped in the embrace where freedom lived
And salvation, and grace, and mercy