Moral chains & Social bindings
Everyday I wake up and feel the cold of metal, hear the clank of chains and smell the leather of the trappings that bind me. Tied up like a fly caught in a spider web, I raise up like a puppet connected to strings as the day begins. The same routine: no freedom, no change. Eat, dress, brush my teeth and hair, shave and let the lukewarm faucte water wash all the excess away. Grab my things and head out of the door, the routine so implanted and so plain, that behind it all my mind screams out for change under the dire threat of insanity.
As I go though out the day, my body in auto: Saying the right things, makig the right motions appleasing, doing whats expected of me, performing the unheared agreement of my social obligation. Mean while my emotions and thoughts run rampant in their chains, forced slowly into a prison not of thier own making they plot and plan for a way out. Not allowed to speak out cause of what others may think or say, unable to have my heart move its own way; the mind feels the tightness of the leather, the heart feels the pinch of the chains.
Going though the motions, regardless of the pain real or imagined the fact stays the same. Having to curb actions and still the tounge the soul slowly confirms to the idea that their is such no thing as the self. Lost in the view of the mass, that shine dims to a low ember, a dying flame. Once it held itself aloft beaming with radical ideas, now dragged low deemed a threat by the mass, a agent of senseless chaos, a bringer of pain. Even now it remains cowled, bent low. And as it moves there is no mistaken the sounds of the creaking of leather bindings and the tinkling of chains.
Outside in the world the sun shines and the birds sing. The grass and flowers grow, set to sway by a gentle breeze. On the inside is a barren home to only the strongest of hopes and craftiest of dreams. Struggling to find the nourishment for thier contuined survival they band together for a better chance. Steadily they drop in number: Beaten down by the barren sun, swept away by the desolate winds.
Then it all changes at the drop of dime as a lone sound rings out, a ray of hope starts to shine. To sound travel out, encompassing both my body and my mind. It reverbrates though the soul and brings water to the dying. Every part of me reaches out for the source, cries out with sense of hope, a source of light for the blind....
Instinctivly I hold out my hand and feel the soft impact of something cold, hard, difficult to define. Every hair stands on end, every sense strains as my eyes finally divine what lies in the palm of my hand: A single broken link with a caught strip of leather sits there like dead weight, the cold metal rent, the strip torn asunder, flapping lifelessly in the wind.
How did this happen? To whom do I praise? Then again does it matter?
One less binding, one less link of the chain.