Poetry of the Soul

Come See What's Within

The Battle Within

This basically is a story of how in any situation you have conflicting ideas. In one way, you want to do exactly what your thinking. Yet, something inside stops you. Blocks you from conducting the deed. This is a visual representation of that struggle.

I was tied up

I was tied up. Looking around, I could only see a black haze. Struggling to breathe, I tried to gather my thoughts. Nothing came to me. The only thought, the only independent idea that hit me was to kill him. The raw fury came from deep within, like the echo upon a cave, and with the vigor of an angry bull. I couldn’t understand what possessed me, but all I wanted to do was kill him. He didn’t deserve to continue his broken life… If only I could get out of these restraints, I would go. That would be it. To free myself of this cursed thought and of this damned fight. If only I could free myself of this straightjacket and of this room. Oh how I long for freedom. But I’m still held back. I don’t know why I’m trapped here and why I can’t break free. I can’t even move. I try to work on the binds, but every time I seem close to breaking out, a new restriction takes hold, strangling me. A noise, I hear sound… So close, as if it was right behind me. Turning my head, the slight amount I can turn, I see a hand reaching out, as black as the mist surrounding, grabbing me. A voice calling out as dark as night. I feel t throughout my entire body. It speaks; I have no choice but to listen.

“Kill not.”

“But I must.” My reply.

“Live in the light, darkness not I need. Free my binds. Free me and let me be.”

The reply, much different then before. “DO NOT!” The voice, it roared. “WILL NOT!” The thundering roar.

Again, “Set me free, as before. No longer lay your hand on my troubled soul. I must break free, free to soar.”

And then I struggled, twisted and bent. A new strength I started to discover. Freedom, must be close. The binds, I can feel then loosen… Yes, free am I. Yet move may I not. Yes, the hands not free its reigning grip.

“Let me loose, let me go, free me. I am my own; this decision I make is mine. Tell me no more, let go your grip.”

“Free you not. You are mine. No decisions may you make. Nowhere to go, may you not do your deed. Not ever may I set you free.”

I see it now, a knife so tough. So close, its metal rings. I reach out and grab, take hold of its grasp. Then into the hand I pierce, letting free its grip.

It cried not in pain, yet it not withers away. Below I see blood, yet it comes from me. Never again may I be free. Too far gone am I. The restraint shall ever be me. And I the restraint shall never be free.