Prisoner of Passion

Words are my palace and my prison,
A paradise of unending surprise and sorrow,
Words are my power and my possession,
My principality and ascension,
Freedom and captivity,
Prisoner of my own accolades,
Failures replete with universal implications,
As I have been,
Tempted by the fruit of another,
But none more so,
Than these words.

Words are my salvation and surrender,
The limbo of my earthly existence,
For I hold inside this mind,
Heaven and hell,
St. Peter and Cerberus,
Yet striving to find my universal plain,
Shooting myself through space and time,
Searching, striving, suffering,
As inside a fire burns,
This chosen light,
Warrior Poet,
Undone and yet complete,
Struggling to unsheathe the perfect weapon,
A sentence beyond reproach,
Beyond compare,
As I deftly surf the ill conceived compression,
Of those who seek to belittle and destroy me,
But none more so,
Than these words.

Words are my lifelong obsession, torment and joy,
From which I can demolish the laws of nature,
Compel the laws of man,
Reach deep with the heart and soul,
And make you feel,
Do you know that potential?
Can you?
Do you know what that can do to a man?
Warrior Poet or not?
Do you?
Will you?

Words are my palace and my prison,
Where I am king and convict,
Aristocrat and serf,
Peasant of my own repressed emotions,
Feelings and sensations,
That demand,
These words,
From this humble liege,
A light that shines and beckons from within,
Please,
Free me.

SDM

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