The Silent Struggle (Patreon)

Amid the dark, a form takes flight,

Barely visible in moonlit sight.

Tied with red ropes, suspended high,

In an agony of passion's sigh.

Each limb bound tight, in stark contrast,

To the darkness that surrounds its stance.

The struggle shows in every line,

Of this form caught up in time.

Yet through it all, a hint of grace,

As red ropes trace their own embrace.

A dance of agony and release,

In an image filled with poignant peace.