Choices Chances Chaining…

September 15, 2016

impriso

Would that this paltry prison in mine hand be e’er un-grated.

No longer to ensnare these sorry eyes,

Human, hungry, fated.

And all that friends, yea, e’en enemies, to oppose, do scheme, 

Become, in an instant: self- aye God- insulting,

Naught but fleeting dreams.

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