PRISONER OF TIME 1 © 2007

Each word, a pain that persists,

A silent scream that resists,

I am a prisoner of verse, of rhyme,

In a prison without key, without esteem.

I write to free myself,

But I end up entangling myself,

In this web of confused thoughts,

Where the beginning and the end become blurred.

I sacrifice the start, without hesitation,

In hopes of an end, that may bring calm,

But in truth, it’s the cycle that consumes me,

And frantic writing is the price imposed.

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