Flight

Statue in Motion

And if she moved the spell would break
Or so the voices said
Her glittering skin would quiver and quake
Split and toss her dead
From pedestal to shattering floor
Just shards there at the end.
And so her heart’s dream she foreswore,
A wound she could not mend.
The death of dreams a grinding pain
A throttle for the soul
Till what at last, what does remain
Unheeding, submits to their control.
And yet, sometimes a spark ignites
The dream once more alive
Spirit, soul, gird, take up the fight
For freedom’s bliss to strive
In that striving, joy may be found
Hope, sweetening, fresh and pure
Makes music of the silent sound
Of waking dreams’ allure.

She dances, winging along the shores of Where They Will Not Go, and if she’s lost to them, she does not mourn, for her eternal lover she’s finally found: herself, free.

[Disclaimer: The image here is posted with the understanding that doing so is not prohibited. The pictures will be removed should it be shown that this is not the case.]

About suzanawylie

Suzana Wylie is the not-very-pseudo pseudonym of Susan Wylie Wilson, because let's face it, there are lots of Susan Wilsons around, and as an author, I want readers to find ME and not the bazillions of others. I've been writing all my life - since I learned to hold a pencil anyway - and can't NOT write. Other people have to breathe to live; I have to write.
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