Binding
Eric Bonholtzer
Sever the chains of time.
Don’t wait. The opportunity is at hand.
Slip sneaking through the chinks and cracks
In your tether, feet sinking, immured
Mired against the precipice
Standing with clawed hand holds
The fettered soles bonded and ironed
Out in the wrinkles of darkness.
It suffocates like feathers down
the gullet, forced projections
against a wall like Plato’s shadows,
shouting, mounds of bones piled skeletons high.
The knot ties, the unchained impassively constricting
And keeping close together like a child’s crayons
still in the box
Some say the body is a prison
A bone, blood, and flesh cell
Everyone a convict, kept in mind.
However, not everyone is right.
And opinions are always subjective.
A caricature against a wall, made with charcoal
from a fresh hot fire, sits becoming prettier while
black and white skies appear in unison, watching over
captors and saviors alike. A striped staircase to climb
Prodded by an invisible hand never letting go.
