When Will My Imprisoned Soul Drown Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

When will my imprisoned soul drown,
Ebb away, surrender into a lasting grace
Battle blows against a castle wall resound.
Where a dove circles with blood on its face

Cries, when will my heart finally be entombed?
When will I relinquish this burning ember, doomed?
When will I learn to fly or reverse this freefall?
Look, I'm now begging on my knees, appalled.

How small I've become, how I've given up fighting
When will my soul drown, ebb away beneath his feet?
When will I admit defeat?
Do you hear the flapping of a broken bird tonight?

Her cries, her self-inflicted wounds that cry,
That says, when will my heart be finally entombed?
When will I relinquish this burning ember, doomed?
When will you hear my cries, and what might they imply?

Imply for you and me. Oh, let these castle walls fall.
I can't take any more derision or neglect anymore.
Do you not hear the cries of the dead entering a tomb?
Do you not know the chains I want to break to be free?

Do you not hear the flapping wings of a broken bird?
Her self-inflicted wounds that cry now empty words.
When will—when will—when will
When will—when will—when will

We surrender to a lasting grace.
When will we stop and lay down our arms?
There is no disgrace.
If you break my fall and call off your war forevermore.