It has been a while since I last visited this place. Perhaps there is no escape from chains that constrict and choke the life out of any soul they come across. But for now, I shall rest easy knowing the appeal and versatility of poetic ambiguity.
In a far away place
Through iron bars of thorns and frost
Clawing, calling for a taste
Of scalding light
I lay bloodied
Upon the stone slabs of Dante’s revelation, fleeing, flying, make haste!
Breathe; breathe and let out the last
Drip drops of ichor
Filling the dead dread with echolalia
Bestial horrors crack open, the
Gyres of reckoning.