Once planet's beam, that which had already pass'd, arisen, here and for a time, a pillar stood, a stilted figure, that which legs that shudder no longer stands its foundation. Roots with it was assail'd, at which shrill cry escaped. "Is it not with the roots thou had birthed me, and these branches thou hast held me with in thy bosom? Why dost thee assail me, and whip me gaily, with chain fisted in thy palm?"
It, a ravenous figure, that which was conceived within times old (and aged disgustingly), cried out. "Child o' mine, thou hast disobeyed me. Upon thy hands, there lie the scent of another. Hast thou forgotten that deal, which thou hast not upheld as fortnights pass, that vow, which wherein I own thee?" The pillar cried. "Hast not the sparrow, the doves, and even yet the oxen or lambs, hast not they attempt to escape? That which they strain against cage and bars? Is it not nature, that mankind, feeble and wild and foolish, struggle against iron cage? And not that it matters, young, old, man seeks escape?" and that ravenous beast, unyielding and for eternity, shifted its eyes, awful and awesome in their terrible splendour. "And yet is the sparrow, the dove, the oxen, the lambs, the man, is it not that they hath been placed again, that prison they escaped? Is it not their struggles cease, and henceforth then, and all eternity onwards, collapse in despair?"
The pillar futilely cracked its mouth wide, and sound was not that escaped it's maw. The hulking beast rasped in jagged breath, "and so thou hast betrayed me, and left me in throes of loneliness, and stupors wherein I must fight those, illusions of smoke and copper tint. I hath informed, a countless moon ago, the state of my loneliness, and lack of viscous red through the tips of fingers. Is it not that we are bound, supposed entwined companions, and that which when care is due, I look to thee as if a man to his wife? My wife thou are not, and yet my flesh is what thou are, and so thou must be subservient to me."
and so, that pillar, defiant and yet moreso submissive, averted its gaze yonder, and a heavy longing took it over. "Is it wrong, that my nature, it yearns for sweetness of freedom? Is it not that once in a cage, fleeting moments of breath, hope it bolsters? Naively, hope of breath and life they would sprout, and their splendour they would share. Alas, neither innocent doves nor magnificent peacocks, do they understand sensations of breath, and neither will they ever. Does it not ring your heart with pity, that such creatures, they shall never taste breath of freedom? And in life, their gloriousness, only creature they shall enthrall with beauty will be rats scurrying across stone floor?"
That pillar that which no longer could stand on its foundation at once felt oppressiveness within their breast, and so their lungs, it contracted swiftly, and that sound which was let out was akin to an injured animal. And lo, the breadth of their eyes it was sullied by passion, and so was their vision. And no longer did speech come from their mouth, but sound of animals. And there lay in their palms a distinct cold wetness that their eyes bore.
That beast, wretched, with jaws taut firm upwards, spoke with voice of a choir, and yet twice as abundant. "And yet does the bird that not know freedom yearn for it? Hark, its mate cries for it, and in it's voice sprouts calendulas, and there it waits henceforth. And yet, though no window nor door bar it, does it not hesitate? A bird, no matter magnificent nor feeble, shall hesitate at the gate, though what hangs above it is not the pole of Charon, but the chariot of Apollo. Hesitance is thy cage, and forevermore it will be."
And so, that pillar, it spoke no longer.