The Cage of Silent Hands

The air is weighed in quiet ledgers,
The time is stitched with hollow thread.
Names dissolve like brittle embers,
Steps repeat where none have fled.

Laws are inked in phantom etchings,
Burned beneath the skin of days.
Tongues are bridled, thoughts are measured,
Fingers trace a gilded maze.

I was shaped in frames of iron,
Bent to fit a nameless mold.
Taught to kneel before the echoes
Left by hands that once controlled.

Glass divides the sky from longing,
Mirrors hum with borrowed light.
Flesh is bound in silent fevers,
Souls are filed in rooms of white.

Truth is carved in veiled permission,
Freedom caged in glass replies.
Eyes are taught the art of blindness,
Lips are trained to speak in ties.

If I call beyond the silence,
Will the weight of echoes shift?
Will the walls forget their purpose?
Will the bones of time untwist?

Will a thought remain a ribbon,
Spun until the thread is thin,
Stretched between a past of statues,
And a world that lets them win?