Love is the only way

I am in prison.
I can move my fingers but this deep valley in my palm is a mesh of wires gone rusty. Clearly, the lines in my palm are distressed, they say.
My eyes can roll and jump left and hop right but I can’t bat their lids. And the eyes that can’t bat their lids forget many things. Like shedding tears. Because they never know. Because they never feel the pain or ecstasy enough to shut under the lids and stamp the moment.
My arms can move and move well to coil themselves around the world, and feel One that the Masters talk about. But my shoulders ache under a cold mountain. A cold cold mountain that lost its river to a landslide. The river is Me. The mountain is You.
I, inside me, have a fresh new pair of wings, especially after some pilgrimages… but its feet are tied with your wrist and I can’t simply leave ground because the sky is calling….
I am in prison… Loosen the tangles. Give me birth. Only you can release me. Only You.