Out

And that is the mystery.
Where, if you are not tied to this shackle,
where then are you
and what?

If the iron chains you crafted so long
are vapor, a dark spell,
what binds you still?

Madness?
Love or a semblance of love?
Mere habit?
Some siren’s song of false hope?
A desire to be saved?
Fear
that what lies beyond the dungeon is worse
than the darkness you live in?

It is not.

For the world is a kinder place
than the one you have imagined.
Not easy,
for the demons you created,
the ones that held you here
are resilient
and will appear again and again,
but
each step you take beyond these walls
weakens them.

They cannot stand the light.
That is why they have held you here,
whispering lies about your weakness,
for your strength frightens them.
The light frightens them,
and so they have held you here in their enclave of lies,
their place of darkness,
knowing what you did not know,
what you did not believe,
that you are strong,
and beautiful,
wise and wild,
that you cannot fly too close to the sun,
for you are
the sun itself.

About this poem

We, almost all of us, are more than we have allowed ourselves to believe. And for some, we are more than others around us have allowed us to believe.

Believe.

Tom