I am a prisoner of my own device, and I am better for it.

Captive by my own self, there's no way out, and yet no need for help. A cell beside the sea, the world's feckless tides wash over me, attempting to weather me night and day.

But each grain they think they wash away, I've merely sent out ahead. For when I am all washed away, my sand will remain amongst them. What I have trapped inside this flesh I free with every breath, and yet it is what binds me to my word, imprisoning me in stead.

Conviction, is, at last, the warden of whom I speak. It is a blessed curse which can make heroes of the meek, but the greater your conviction, the greater conviction you must keep.

I am called to act when the body is weak and frail, to break my bones and bleed like hell, but if or when it kills me I would still not undo its spell. A twisting nest of thorn and thistle may still yet bring a bloom.

I cannot break a word or promise, and I will never abandon a soul. I will stand up for the little guy, be he young or old. I will not stand for ignorence, or prejudice; and God help me I will not stand for hypocrites. Traitors be known the infernal fates of Judas, Brutus, and Cassius.

The links of each chain will ever hold me fast. I will not, can not ever waver, as long as I last. Weaknesses I have are forgotten, as if in madness. When men and women know conviction and then, what's more, sustain it, they lose their fear and trepidation- even as it licks and nips at worn and callused heels.

When devils come unto your door and are standing at the threshold, conviction beckons the creatures in. What possible harm might ever come, for where they wage war conviction has won.

A part of me, a sandy step, is left where I have roamed,

but that grain remains a piece remembered of

the prison I've made my home.