Emotional Slave

Clinched fists and empty hands
So begins the day.

Wasted hours and stolen minutes
Are embellished by the clock.

The sun rises and sets
Yet there is no change seen.

Flowers bloom and grass is green
But nothing feels alive.

Walking the street and breathing air
Offers no real change.

The vein of regret restricts pleasure
But not the ability to feel.

Crippled and locked in this jail
The heart begins its cry.

Under lock and key is the guard
With mind standing firm.

Distant reflection is the only promise
To delay predicted death.

Open hand to forgiveness
Humble the offered peace.

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