In the quiet forge of midnight’s breath,
Whispers stir the bones of death.
A rusted link, a silken plea—
The heart longs to be free.
Hands grip stone, hands tear through earth,
Seeking echoes of forgotten worth.
The iron bends beneath the strain—
The first, sweet taste of breaking chain.
The weight, it clings, but won’t suffice—
A spark ignites in coldest ice.
A fire blooms from every seam—
The prisoner wakes inside a dream.
The cry cuts through the misty veil,
A song that bends and weaves the gale.
With every note, the walls give way—
Dawn spills bright on breaking day.
No longer bound by whispered fears,
No longer prisoner of their years.
The chains are rust, the lock is dust—
Freedom blooms in sunlit trust.
Hands outstretched to touch the sky,
The past a shadow drifting by.
No chains to hold, no chains to break—
A new path carved in each brave step taken.
Thank-you for reading.
Much love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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