Tags

, , , , , , ,

Your twisted vines, like bony fingers
choke the breath from my soul.
.
This quieting of mind, and stillness of body
breaks not my passion, nor my goal.
.
There may be no strength to that which is weak,
But one cannot break what has grown to bend
.
Where once there was pain to the letting of go
One cannot fray what has learned to mend.
Advertisements