Breaking Shackles

Condemned to speak from heart,

Thoughts scribbled on paper during an outburst.

Flowing through ink like a piece of art,

What came first and occurred last.

So strong under a spell like weaving some craft.

Without a gloze bare truth did I cast

Under observation but acting smart,

My contemporaries added fuel to fire to spread it fast.

Thus only made it easier to add arguments to cart.

And damage it did became repair past.

Who actually played an evil part?

So have I half lowered my mast.

As mine very own against me dart.

Looking far below in empty abyss vast,

For right conditions my journey then to start.