Futile Prayers

He yells at the Moon
A beastlike cry; guttural
His thought burns from the effort
Tears flow from the pain it brought

He waits. The Moon is silent, ignoring him.

The Chains rattle on his wrists
The coldness biting to the bone
Edges cut his skin and bleed him
His life and will wearing thin.

He faints. The Earth welcomes, embracing him.

His wails echo through the plains
His blood flows from scars opened
He blurts his sobs, it resonates
The gods they stir and turn to watch.

They mock. And called in the rain.