My Soul, is Freedom’s Journey

Written by: Kristin Reynolds

Blowing through a vast crevasse –
from whirling tempest; 
to calming balm on wounded skin;
to constant howl;
to sunlit kiss, onto warm lips –

I am a promise, 
to the girl who waits,     
within the cave, where no light shines;
where sucking blackness and decay
consumes and claws across
the barren expanse that is –

My inner child’s mind.

Little Kristin, girl of 7 
(when time stopped)
suspended upon a bony pillar, sits,
engulfed by craggy mountain walls –

The cave of sorrows.

A black pit surrounds the tower, 
held hostage by those who would keep her silent;
(protecting the illusion at all costs)
she waits,
bound, 
and as silent as the fear that creeps up 
the lone pillar,
(coming for the light in her eyes)
killing slowly, methodically,
attacking light –
the light that creeps through cracks;
breaks through holes;
breathes life into darkness –

(minions of death vying to stay her shine).

Her holly-hobby night gown 
(full of broken dreams)
tattered and torn, 
crowns her dirty little feet.
A grayed white gag, beneath soiled cheeks –
(like apples, they used to say)
blackened by yesterday,
save for the dappled light that shines,
from green eyes –
just a glimpse…
       then gone.

A tiny flame flickers, within small hands –
(holding what was stolen)
keeping the beasts at bay...
(lighting a Mother’s way)

They say I was everything to the one in the photographs –
The light giver.

Light taken, 
       and given.
Her battery drained, 
(strength offered to the shining moon)
       then gone.

Permanently erased.
Eradicated, liberated (grace or fear?)

Strength was my gift born
from her weakness -
my birthright, and soul’s mantra.

My soul was God’s gift -
my strength,
was her gift –
I am battery doubled.
No more am I dirty black holes 
hiding in shadow,

For I am wind…

I am nowhere, 
        And everywhere.
I am past, present and future.
My soul is freedom blowing through the cracks 
left by the black maker (innocence taker);        
     
into my darkest depths;
holding the little girl (lost, no more) –

kissing her face;
drying her tears;
      leaving the cave -
carrying my child home.

Together we light 
the ancient halls,
Where I am the light maker now.

Winding my way from heaven to
ground;
kissing the nose’s of my five reasons 
found –

My soul is wind 
       from the heaven’s,
unbound,

and these are the gifts 
that my soul 
resounds.

Amen.