Too often the walls closing
in on me bear a familiar texture, marks
of my own making. I am all too aware
that I have built this cage, this confining
place. Yet, I feel so helpless to break
free from my own entanglements.
And so it is that my voice cries out, echoing
in anguish, resonating in pitch darkness,
drowning in the shadows of my own efforts.
Still I cry; I call out. For in all of my failings
I have not yet lost the hope that you hear,
and you answer.