Slave of freedom

Wounded soul

The magnitude of the pain,
turned my bright day into gray,
my soul began to bleed,
like if it is needed to be.

 

I meditate over my wounded soul,
and realize I'm still here on this earth,
I allowed my hurted soul,
to bleed till it can't no more.

 

Meanwhile I lie here and bleed for awhile,
everybody's asking if I'm still alive,
I am not dead,
I decided to free myself, to grieve and process as well,
and as Maya Angelou recite,
"You may write me down in history,
with your bitter, twisted lies,
you may trod me in the very dirt,
but still, like dust, I'll rise".

 

I patched up my wound,
'Cas now is time to rise,
to let my soul to bright,
and again to fight this life.

 

Comentarios1

  • Ana Maria Germanas

    The pain hurts, and the life continue, because is your precious spirit, who always, let you winn....
    Beautiful poem, slave

    • Slave of freedom

      Exactly, you can let your soul bleed but we have to be confident that someday we will rise and fight again. Thank you Ana Maria😊 bendiciones.



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