The New Beginning

A Year of Sonnets #82

Photo by Paul Bulai on Unsplash

Perhaps you hear the monster’s voice
affirming that you have no choice
in all the horrors left to come,
left powerless, no hands to strum
your weary song, no martyred chord,
the melody your skin has stored
a million years, a month, an hour,
the silence strips away your power.
So light a fire — and slip your skin!
Now let the healing fire begin
to jump your bones and raise your heart,
the story…