Bound

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Tucked and folded, softly furled
The wings of angels rest
Against the proud and muscled backs
Of those who know their worth
Hidden by mute promises
Unseen by searching eyes
With all the wrench of whispered yes
Surrendered screaming no
Held there in the shadowed night
And pressed upon the day
Wings of marble and of stone
Stretch forth to grip the air
Sweat-washed and fanning passion’s fire
Anchored to the earth
Yearning still to rise once more
Reclaim heaven’s prize
Held fast by human frailty
Bound with love’s own hands

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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