The Convicted

His heart is wrenched from its place,

Wrenched awake, sore aware.

Panicked hands grasp the void,

Grasp in vain, the callous air.

 

His eyes are open now to see,

See he’s blind, and what he’s earned.

Feet lose their solid ground,

Feet slipping, in crumbling earth.

 

His mind screams a thousand things,

Things of shame, pierce him through.

Shoulders feel the burden’s weight,

A measured weight, sealed and true.

 

He would gladly now forsake,

Forsake his life, and all he’s done.

Desperate call for sweet escape,

Death looks sweet, but will not come.

 

He sees a mountain overhead,

Burning mountain, will fall and grind.

Desperate, reaching out for hope,

Hope remembered, but is there time?

 

© 2018 MILES VENISON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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