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In chambers silent, ‘neath a veiled moon’s glow,
A captive soul in solitude doth sow.
Confinement’s shroud, a cloak of somber grace,
Weaves tales of isolation in this sacred space.
The world outside, a distant, hushed refrain,
Yet within these walls, a tempest, not a chain.
Echoes of laughter, like ghosts, do fleet,
Through the lonely corridors, where silence and shadows meet.
Oh, muse of sorrow, thy lyre now weeps,
For hearts in isolation, where darkness slowly creeps.
A captive symphony, composed by fate’s own hand,
In solitude, the soul must learn to stand.
But hark, for in this quiet, a poet finds his voice,
A melody of resilience, a solitary choice.
Through verses spun from the loom of despair,
He finds a light, a solace rare.
Thus, in the confines of this temporal night,
A captive spirit learns to take its flight.
For though the world may be locked in chains,
The soul, in verse, forever remains.