What a wicked thing it is to live
to breathe
with no direction
but that of your own hand
where your safety lies
solely on your own head
every corner holds a danger
perhaps it's nothing
perhaps something
but always a danger.
you see
in the night
shadows crawling
mouthing words
you can never
hear
and in your sleepy
dream-state mind
where eternity exists
you wake up in a 4-walled
box
you can't breathe
the church bell rings
you hear cries
you hear silence
you hear the voice of GOD
your life, your safety
gone.
You're just another shadow by the monastery.