Writing sometimes hits me at odd times. I’m a night owl, so that doesn’t help my getting to sleep, or help with slowing my mind once I’ve decided it’s time to sleep. A couple of nights ago, that happened just after I turned out the lights. A thought, an itch, and I had to turn the lights back on and write this poem that is now a song of deliverance for my soul.
She fought the tears, drowned the pain under fires as the bridges crumbled. Freedom, she whispered. Outgrown a lost soul, held back, knocked down, dark truths of flesh hidden. Freedom, she cried. Chains of passion broken, mourning cruel love, infinity does have an end. Freedom, she implored. A first flower rising through snow as January marks the journey, loving her own creation. Freedom, she shouted. Sound rises above, as spirit is set free to fly, her voice without quiver. Freedom, she whispers.