Trapped: Stop Controlling My Life!


With chains I am bound, to a destiny of toil, bondage and servitude to an unseen master. They who have the power to alter the course of this lifestream has a chokehold on my life. Oftentimes, they grip it with talons as sharp as an eagle’s. I turn purple as I grasp for air, trying to clutch that which cannot be touched, never breathing happy as if with eyes wide open while seeing a nightmare.

Yet with a forceful motion, I open my eyes and see that the eagle’s talons are none but my own. I was choking myself, willfully, amidst the dreamy wisps of smoke. I cough when I walk and spit out the viscous liquid, pretending and fooling myself that in such a dastardly act, I have, in one fell swoop banished and exorcised the demons that lurk within.

Yet they remain, gleefully laughing and snickering in silence. Pointing out that destiny was not meant to be controlled by a single person but by the multitude. With these they punish, as I observe the starvation of my head. A bottomless pit I clutch with broken nails in my fingers, grasping whatever soil that may be there.

I beckon my soul to yell, yet no sound emerges. Choked beyond control, I bow down to my masters.

Mesmerized and unbelieving, I watch as they tear down the walls of what I have built. Hopelessness emerges like a traitorous and dark fog from the nethers.

Yet I carry on and move, with the tiny sliver of hope. That morsel as big as a corn kernel, lodged amidst the fiery charcoal rock of ignorance and retribution.

In my head I bow down to thee, with my body bent I am enslaved for you to see. You laugh, I know and see. But in my heart, there is a light for all to see.

How many must you enslave, with your treacherous hands by my neck? Oh control, you have the power to alter the will of the nations. Oh control, you have the might to decimate all, including the legions.

Is it the will of God, that decrees forth my destiny? Or is it merely happenstance that those who utter the words of confusion, hold a dagger behind me?

With a solitary will, I toil, crawling on all fours and all have surrendered except that one tiny morsel of faith. Were it not for my grace, I would have unleashed the furies and chaos would have ensued. But as the son of the law, providence dictates that my hands move in a certain manner.

Providence! Hah!  

With a sound mockery of what has been built, they tarnish it with insanity disguised in an unworldly manner. Look about you and see what has been eroded over years of lack of foresight. Wanton insanity, unbridled abuse. 

Thus, it is now the present that we all have to see, what more could a slave do but do as thee bids? 

Thus we are all ensnared.

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