Shackles

I pace the dim lit hollowed corridors
all them doors are closed, locked

silence deems me no one cares. 

Dark, isolated as their presence

no one here to appease me
of tasks that need be heeded

Forth, I walk up, I walk down
empty halls tapping my heels,
perhaps I, merely a lingering mist

One many pass through gaps
of subsistence, further of adherence
perhaps it is just me, perhaps

yet hear I another, see another
of different isle, another plane
but of the same mist as I

We'd meet at the end
of our confinements
of sealed corridors

Wiggle, I, my wondering toes
and feel another, daily struggles
still, they close the doors upon us

Not even the least, open they,
at least once, we would meet
only to converse of all that we lack

Some offer, some tuck away
still I grasp for the deadlines,
even the obligated reports

Oh how I wish to leave, yet
markings of inclination are etched
with a quill on their bonds of white

I am theirs, bound am I
so I walk the endless halls,
shackles or no shackles

damn be I, yet I will overcome
of the damn, and I am here
bound shackled round my red

 © Rena Scribe 2015

(Revised, originally written in October/2005)