A Shadow of Conscience

His face turned red though not of rage His hair grew gray but not of age Locked inside, chained with steel Alone in the dark he could only feel The breathless silence Growing heavy on his wounds And the crown of thorns Pricking the nerves of his skull He could smell the darkness And taste its bitterness He could hear his scars Screaming for freedom The scars that reigned his skin For almost years of dullness… Smells of dead rats covered the cell But he, instead of disgust Felt calmed, secured in his shell For at least now he knew It never left him, his crew The friends he stayed with for years And who helped him fight his fears Just being there before his eyes Was enough to let him feel That he never suffered alone. The wind of the bitter snow Stroke him like knives Shuddering, he tried let go Of his chained hands and legs But failed greatly as he greeted Surrendering not with grief But with an open heart Just like all the passed days Where when saw A glimpse of hope He tried to grasp it But failed tremendously He got used to defeat Accustomed to sorrow Bleeding to his feet He felt nothing but hollow So sad in soul And hurt in body He wished he could fall And join his friends’ destiny Where he could lie down Dead, breathless, but peaceful Rather than being alive Desperate, hurt and rueful Rather than living in a grave Engraved in regrets and pain Where no one can ever save Him except he himself…