Freedom to do
Whatever
Whenever
You want.
Knowing
The restrictive
Institutional rules
Don't apply
Now.
No longer forced
Or viewed
As a child
To be supervised.
And yet
My soul is
Still imprisoned
In need of healing.
As the battle wounds
Are exposed
To the uncompromising glare
Of the morning sun.
Cauterizing
These putrid black wounds
Long suppressed
Behind mental walls.
Now
They lay
Upon my soulscape
Like medieval ruins.
In need of
Rebuilding
And moving forward.
Leaving the lies
In the dark.
Forever more.
Therisa © 2017
Author's note: The fourth chapter poem for A Work, In Progress.
