silence of the chains

bound to chains that do not make the slightest sound

my woes with those of the world confined,

no avenue of escape whether flesh, stone, or block of spirit wall

all hope restrained, to fine powder ground

shackles bound by chains though i can see the mountain tops

fjords and rivers pristine, seas and secluded glacier wilderness i see, but cannot reach

i've been to some, some vicarious my eye enriched

by quiet snows in silence white repose

no tracks of man, no routes of in, or oil stains out

these do not make the slightest sound

like those by chains to which i'm sometimes bound

the din of human noise and streets that lie in poverty

from calcutta to so called rich streets of new york

silver, gold paper bills, jewels and ivory towered columns, steel

the lust, the kill, the blood and guts

its still because of greed

bound by chains that do not make the slightest sound

my heart beats fast, my mind swirls in madness swoon undone

it goes, unchecked by reality's checks,

its ups and downs, a turn at every step to fall,

will sometimes let, like clockwork get back at me

as much slack the links allow

when they rattle, they do tattle, it's time for no respite

though i gain few sacred holds of joy or peaceful grips

and then the chains when they do not make a sound

get heavy to the vice of murphy's law; the souless one whose claws work incessantly

to fulfill what you saw, prophetic word inscripted,

you will suffer many trials,

beware your enemy, the devil goes about ruthlessly, undivine

twists and pulls the chains to make a noise, screw you to the brink

his antimatter sin of slime strikes my heart with grime

'til thank the friend of man, makes the evil one to blink

release the chains, break each link in everlasting light

while free i stand, by his blood,

resume my stance of shield and sword

by his helmet of salvation, by his every word