If presented an opportunity to escape,
What would even be left for freedom?
The distance to travel is too great,
For it is wholly contained within.
There is a weight you cannot shoulder,
It pushes you down lower still,
An inner depth deep within the heart,
Barren while time washed through your hands.
Why heap pains on top of sicknesses?
Grinding of the teeth with a heart clenched,
Hiding in plain sight from the sorrows,
Justifying the extinguishing of passions.
The Suffering Servant King noticed of all this,
Held a cup,
And found your mangled heart at the bottom.