Sculpted by the Heavens, Haunted by the Wild

Born of stone and scripture, a chiseled child, Shaped by shadows, where duty smiled. A father's fist, a granite line, Molded expectations, a design divine. Mother, a tempest, wind in her hair, Bipolar whispers, a haunting flare. Her moods, like lightning, crackled and surged, Leaving scars in shadows, unspoken, unpurged. Within this fortress, my spirit confined, By laws celestial, a heart defined. But beneath the surface, where secrets hide, A yearning for freedom, a restless tide. Will the sculptor's hammer cease its cruel art? Or will I break free, tear the canvas apart? From Heaven's chisel, and storms untold, A soul may emerge, brave and bold. So I stand at the crossroads, where shadows contend, Will Heaven reclaim me, or will I transcend? With one whispered promise, one defiant spark, I'll forge my own path, leave a rebel's mark. Born of the Heavens, haunted by the wild, The chiseled child rises, a spirit reconciled.