We are all shackled to the wheel of fortunate turning.
We are all shackled to the material things.
We are all prone to losing.
We are shackled to the immaterial, to chance on destiny.
We are all shackled to questioning,
Nothing can be sure, in times of stillness,
In times of change, we create and recreate
Even when there is nothing to be gained.
We are shackled to other living things by the
Similarities of biology.
Lovers are shackled to each other
By feeling and memory.
We are shackled to time, in a linear fashion,
If we are the articles, time is the caption.
Yet we long to break these shackles,
To do the inappropriate and celebrate our individuality.
We want to be free sometimes,
Even of the mutual empathy that bonds the universe together, forever.
To achieve things that will be impermanent ultimately.
We are shackled by rules and wanting to make a mark.
We rebel in order to invent new possibilities.
We are shackled to death, to endings.
To last rites and the last breath.
To changing eras and philosophies,
To burying the old, and letting go.
The rhythm of life like waves on the sea,
Coming and going constantly.
We are shackled to emotion, to experiences, to sexuality,
Creating the new generation, triggering the loss,
Eventually of ourselves.
Of all that we stand for and yet we see it as immorality.
Our genes go on but not our ideas, necessarily.
We are shackled to parents or authority figures,
We bow down or fight back, we long to revere or confront.
Depending on our mettle.
But we carry a history of behavior, as a map to guide us.
Where we’re going, along the way we start knowing,
Our relationship with authority is something our life will express
To the end of it, and in realizing it, we recognize the shackles that
Bind us and let go, so we can know who we are.
The shackles that bind us remind us of who we might be and who
We have been.