Prison of the Mind
He sleeps through the breaking dawn,
As his dreams drift to worlds withdrawn,
Among his cell, shadows spawn,
His freedom's leashed, yet hope lives on.
Sly whispers echo through stone,
Speaking tales of paths unknown,
Beckoning him towards the throne
Of judgment he must face alone.
Yet his faith stands resolute still,
Praying freedom bends to will,
So he sleeps past dawn until
His dreams dance beyond the hill.
-
Copyright © I.A. Ryd | Year Posted 2025
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