Chained To Myself

My body lies in the cellar,
Coated with a daily dose of coal,
Held back by bonds unbreakable,
Chained to my own self in a forgotten world of it's own.

My thoughts have the pleasure of wander,
Out in the plains my free self skips with the wind,
Void of clinks and sore knees that support my hope,
My voice is out there I know,
They jailed the poet and forgot his poem,
Out there,
Painting boldness on once fragile hearts.

They forgot the real criminal, my poem,
Out there, free as the stars in the night skies,
Subtle but loud in silent alleys,
It has become the voice to the voiceless,
A light to the possibilities and rights unknown,
And now I am the unsung hero,
Who birthed it all.

So,
I sleep in my own chains,
Unsure whether the light will see me again,
But peaceful at heart as I know someday,
A son will run after butterflies with a free smile,
And a daughter will paint the beautiful horizon,
And a father will be forever grateful to what started it all,
My voice, my poem