The Tragedy of Silence

Like Prometheus, strained and taught;
You forfeited yourself to be strung up,
Deserted by all but those who feed upon you.

What placed you on dire Caucasus?
The loyalty of naïve youth;
The fatality of misplaced allegiance?

Why be a martyr, dripping away your life anew day after day?
You were the valiant victim,
We were the hapless casualties.

But whilst that pained vessel is renewed,
Freedom retreats into her senile state,
Distinguished from her former glory.

Can you ever forgive your captor,
If you crave her constant approval?
How can reformation ever now be expected?

It need no longer be awaited,
The welding on your shackles is beyond secure,
Encasing wings, never to be spread.

Your bitter isolation, unreachable
And everlasting.
Your captor weaves a sturdy casket;

Has she ever hung her head in disgrace?
Or is there no need, with a crown veiled in lies?
Her single virtue:

Never to prove to be an artificial friend,
It is a fallacy to believe she could ever be disloyal,
She can never be false; if she was never true.