Do you feel them?

The shackles.

They chafe and bruise.

Pull against, and they pull back.


Tangible yet they be.

For they have a weight,

a bite…

a substance,

of the foulest metal known to man.


welded upon your wrists

For there is no key.

Yet you walked into

them willingly

Inserted hands,

clasps closed.

Acetylene torch bright

heat burning

Skin blistering.

Hands plunged

into cold water

to quench and

strengthen the binding.

Shackles fade from sight

scars heal,

All to the naked eye.



By Philip Wardlow 2016






6 thoughts on “Shackles”

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