I found this little fragment in an old journal, I think I'd like to expand on the thought a little bit. It ends on a slightly hopeless note which I don't think is what I intended. Or maybe I did. I'd like to see where it could take me though.
We are released from
our prisons and tombs
So used to silence, we
cannot sing
So used to walls, we
build a container for ourselves
"to the glory of God"
-we cannot go out at all.
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