The Iron Cage

03 Feb 2025

·Tempest33

The Iron Cage** Within a prison built of bone and sinew, He dwells, a captive, where no sun shines in. His flesh, a battlefield where armies clash, And joints, once fluid, now are bound in ash. Psoriasis, a crimson, crawling tide, Leaves burning trails where life should freely glide. Arthritis, with its gnawing, twisting grip, Has stolen movement, from his fingertip To aching knees, that buckle with each stride, A constant torment, nowhere left to hide. He yearns for solace, in a world of ease, But finds no respite, no relieving breeze. Each dawn arrives, a herald of new pain, A crushing weight that threatens to unchain The fragile hold he has on hope's small flame, A flickering candle in this endless game. He sees his reflection, a stranger in the glass, A man defeated, watching moments pass. The vibrant spirit, once so full of fire, Now smolders low, consumed by constant pyre. He dreams of dancing, running in the sun, But wakes to find his battles never done. The simplest tasks, a mountain he must climb, Each step a victory, stolen from cruel time. He clenches fists, and bites back bitter cries, But pain's sharp arrows pierce him through disguise. His body, once a temple, strong and free, Is now a cage, where he can only see The world outside, a vibrant, bustling place, Where others move with effortless, swift grace. He longs to join them, in the joyful throng, But feels the chains that bind him, ever strong. A prisoner within, his spirit starts to wane, And whispers tempt him, to embrace the pain. To let it conquer, to surrender all, To cease the struggle, and to simply fall. But deep within, a spark refuses to be quelled, A flicker of defiance, fiercely held. A memory of laughter, love, and light, A reason to keep fighting, through the night. He will not yield, though agony may reign, He'll find a strength he didn't know he'd gain. For even in the darkness, hope can bloom, And through the pain, a warrior's spirit loom. The iron cage may bind him, hold him fast, But cannot touch the soul, that's meant to last.

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Tempest33

I started writing poetry when I was young. The written word and writing myself allowed me to escape many different pains. I recently decided to publish what I write on here . I hope everyone enjoys it.

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