He views his past like a story told him long ago, of deeds and days and righteous ways. The chances are that it never happened. He used to view the future with hope, now he cannot cope to frame a happy thought while outside of his cell the dancing and mourning presses on regardless.
He strains to tell who built the cell and why he walked into it. Did he build it himself and he paces the floor to vainly find the door. No keys, no exit as he checks it.
He cries a shout “Let me out! – does anyone hear my voice?” Some loving souls clasp his hands and offer help and give encouragement. ‘You have been seen and we are keen to let you loose now if we could but tell you how’ Plans are made but hope is delayed. Despair rises like black oil and he can see he will never walk free.
One above looks in love; ‘gain your freedom when you say Thy will be done’