Shackled Mercy
Lose as I must, I don’t
Then what purpose does my existence serve?
A self-serving existence?
Too late for that as angles on me rely
Wish this race was truly my own, uninfluenced
Where my mistakes were mine and I could falter without worry
I would lose in peace without fear of damaging my angles’ wings
Wings excitedly awaiting to take flight
And therein lies mercy within misery
For those who seek and those who accept to recognize
I see everyday those who race freely…
Without shackles held in place by hands of angles
Run free those who commit to their demise
I run with them, but my shackles temper my pace
But as I loosen them I must chose my race
A de-shackled race with those of elevated hearts;
Or a shackled race where bloodied ankles amputate the ability to rise again
The choice won’t last; for now it’s a question of who makes in
