Unbound

A Year of Sonnets — 004/365

Photo by Mariam Soliman on Unsplash

Exhale her ghost and watch her spirit rise
to some High Heaven nestled in the stars.
Imagine not this grace as her demise,
but freedom! You have rent the iron bars
that drain your inner flame relentlessly
and set a frigid lock upon your chest.
She will remain: look skyward and you’ll see
her secret sign. She is at her best
and free to wander back if Fate bestows
another temple for her vital light.
If not, we’ll meet wherever spirits go
and Death shall lose the horror of its bite.

Though time will not pass lightly, it will wear
like water on a boulder — I’ll be there.