Bars above my head allow me to breathe
In the life that sustains my children's breath;
But the bars beneath threaten to swallow
All the blood I have in me, to my death.
In league with that beneath my bulwark weight
Is the one I seek to drown, a hollow
Fool that struggles in vein against my hate;
Yet is protected by a force so great
I cannot hope for the strength to borrow
Against it's protection. What little hope
Have I to redeem these things above and
Bellow? What strength is there in my own hand
To fight what keeps me shackled by command?
A Raging Sea, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012
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