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Bound Within Freedom
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depression Clasp the life of the victim's soul.
Or is she really the victim at all?
Perhaps she is the image of pain.
The vision of hell, and the hope of all evil.
Clasp the life of the victim's soul.
Be she the victim, you decide.
Be she the enemy? I would suggest you run,
For she isn't worth the pain.
Shackled by her own guilty conscience.
A lonely tree, standing tall, reaching forth,
In her own solitary forest.
A reclusive rose, hiding from the sun,
Only to welcome the rain.
A shadow in the night.
Invisible. A transparent specter of life.
Ignored existence. As excluded from everyday,
As she excludes you.
Her happiness is her own.
Her solitude makes her happy.
A comfort. A span of time for her.
No questions. No faults.
No time to tell if she is truly alive.
Try and clasp her stone turned heart.
She'll take flight. To fly away from her captor.
Once restrained. The cage called "love",
The cause of her lust for the blissful freedom.
Though free, her shackled conscience is now broken.
But it's still chained to her wrists.
A constant reminder of the pain she has caused.
Slicing through her skin; a living death,
Wrought by her bleeding soul.
Never to hurt, never to kill another soul.
Her vow was made.
Never to hear the tears she had caused.
Never to love again, as love is something only to be lost,
But never gained.
A gentle light falls upon the sullen rose.
A discomforting presence, unsettling her thoughts.
Trying to run, but finds she is rooted to the ground.
She curses the roots. Curses her twisting emotions.
Trembling fear binds her. The victim of her emotions,
But nothing more. Hiding her face to resist temptation,
Afraid of the fires of love. Afraid to wilt,
To see the smoke rise from her petals.
Water. To quench the growing thirst of life.
Life. To her, something that is simply not worth living.
Worshiping the roots that hold her down.
Never to have to step past the desert of her mind.
Asking the silence, the cloud of her mind,
To blind her judgment. A clouded vision.
No longer can she see that strand of sunlight.
Fearing it. Fearing the threat of blooming.
Safe. Safe behind her subtle cloud.
Gentle raindrops fall from her eyes.
Drowning out her smile and laughter.
Pale skin to fit the mood.
A transparent specter.
Back to the beginning.
Clasp the life of the victim's heart.
Or is she truly the victim?
No more the victim of a crime than she was as a seed.
But she is still afraid.
Afraid. Fearing to be brought to justice,
For a crime she unwittingly committed.
Bound again. If not by love, then by hate.
By fear and resentment. And by hope.
With nowhere to turn, and no way of running,
The blackened rose bud closes. Shrinking from life,
Hiding under the snow of her ice glazed heart.
Until the spring finds its way into her hidden soul.
-Morbid Seraphim
