No Hand Within My Hand

For years, have had my command, To hold no hand within my hand, And of my foolish self demand, That tears don't mean no stand, For years, did have a look at thee, Comfortably, living life of glee, Now the same look on poor me, Alot different, something I could see. For years, sitted in a cold corner, Shivering, trying to make it shorter, A life, forty something years of torture, Of torture, of slavery by disorder. For years, prayed for no answer, Bowed down a milli, I feel insecure, For He hears, except my sincere prayer, My prayer to quit that life in a corner.