A letter is bound and confined by an envelope
Rooms but defined by the walls that surround
One knows their place when standing on the ground
Or the wind in their face running on a downhill's slope.
Just a man, a working man zombie
Just know my past holds my future
Testify to the fact the habits that hold me. Sure,
I know the chains that bind me
Self-imposed, self-contained
Self-less acts, less of self each day
A coin lost in its cracks, less each day
Have I the drive to break these chains?
A ballad binds the bounds of rhyme
Tredding tirelessly in the tracks of time
Appendix added additional angst
Chains choke the chances not chanced
Gains from a gamble not second-glanced
What is real? Will I feel? As I kneel...