The sun pours in, through the miniscule window,
Reaching out to the your darkest depths,
You lie on the floor, fettered to the wall,
The door, locked, the ceiling tall.
As the brilliant light creeps towards your eyes,
You awake to the horrifying reality of the ‘room’….
You know your existence matters to no one,
Beyond the realms of this terror and hubris,
But your master, that wicked being,
Insists on keeping you clean.
Over and over, you are drawn into temptation’s arms,
Her siren song, no doubt appeals, to ears wallowing in silence.
Truth is, you have sold your soul
And no one can rescue you, poor, poor vagabond.
Lost in hopeless cause, he tries,
Calls your name several times,
Yet slipping, slithering, you inch towards the one, the only,
To her cause, you remain true.
You finally got what you desired,
Devoid of sense, of rational thought,
Its mystic beauty, you hopelessly admired,
And you ‘deserve’ it, because ‘valiantly’ you fought?
Not so easily, you are still mortal,
Immorality does not free you from death’s clutches,
You are but a simple, shameless perpetrator, a traitor,
Only to the perpetual sinner, the sacred call reaches.
He has finally given up on you,
The Hand of Providence is fatigued.
Deciding, you have been corrupted beyond measure, he exiles you,
From his kingdom, and your fate is hence sealed.
Rejected by both heaven and hell,
You discern the purpose of existence;
Slain by the vengeance of honesty,
You find no meaning in persistence.
The key turns, the door creaks open,
A strange being walks in, only, he is human;
Taking your hand, he gently asks,
“Son, is the deed done? Have you been freed? ”
There is no need now, to pray for the cleansing,
For one is rid of all desires, mortal greed,
In the Room of Self-Realization.