Running with shackles,
at a different pace-
lost, for a while
found, afterwards

falling into an idea
broken down to two.

Faith rests on a glimpse
that happiness is safe
warm by the fire
of promises, undoused.

My words quake,
my soul shifts
as I have more room
to hide from
beneath gorges
torn in fabric,

swayed into disposition.

Curled, and worried
to know how nothing lasts
with clinched fist
refusing to bloom;

to open up to the question
of letting go
and saying goodbye
to your own shadow
bathed in the light.


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