The Prisoner

The prisoner lies before you
His hand and feet in chains
No guards are there to keep him
But in the prison, he remains
And you try your best to free him
With your compassion and your skill
But the prison is the spirit
And the chains are his free will

There is no point in trying,
There is no rapture for this state 
. . . 

You can reach out there, to touch him,
But he doesn’t feel a trace
You feel betrayal, like bloody treason
Because he draws you to this place
You will offer him temptations
You can plead and you can cry
You’ve offered your salvation
But the bastard just won’t try

There is no angelic choir playing,
There is no saving grace. . . 

And he stares into the distance
Like you haven’t tried a thing
You glance far into this future
And take off that sacred ring
If you lingered there much longer
Perhaps, you would have found a place
In the prison there, beside him,
Imprisoned by his lone disgrace

There are no answers left,
Salvation lies in your escape
 . . .

© Christopher Raine