The Shed Poem by David Wicks

'In shed with shackles bound so tight,
If they cannot restrict His might,
Allow Him then to shift the tides
And make us suffer by whip of hides.'

Comes torment, sought upon thy pace,
A weeping willow's bleeding face
Makes home within your darkest dreams
As life from you His dark hand reams.

His puppet now; you must not sway
From whatever the path that He shall lay.
It leads you to the broken Shed
That now stands very close ahead.

You feel your hand is now in pain,
And look to see a fiery chain
Has enveloped your arm and forces you
To do that which He implores you to.

Somewhere so deep within your mind,
A bit of knowledge you come to find
From another life, or another time;
From another mystery, or another rhyme,

This Shed before you, oh so grim
Was once a prison that hindered Him.
No longer his, but soon to be yours,
He forces you to open the doors.

Inside you see our faces, dark.
Like us, you hear the Hell hound's bark,
And as the doors close slowly shut,
You feel the sharp pain in your gut.

We are powerless; can only stare,
And though we witness what we cannot bare,
We watch as your gut is controlled from within
And breaks right through your very skin.

We hear you cry out in terrible pain
As fires replace the blood in your veins
And He takes your innards and ties you to
The wall of the shed; He hath now claimed you.

His laughter is deep and resides in your head.
I know the pain, sir; I too, am dead.
Though dead we are not; He keeps us alive.
Homes for Locusts; our bodies are hives.

With pain and torment, we hang on to life.
We wish to let go and end our strife.
A living damnation is what He hath grant,
Extorting our mouths so we forever will chant:

'In shed with shackles bound so tight,
If they cannot restrict His might,
Allow Him then to shift the tides
And make us suffer by whip of hides.'