The stitches strain,
they sting and burn,
shuttered eyes
and closed lips in pain,
her countenance stern
as her stomach churns.
But no matter the hurt,
as she tries to burst free,
she will not desert
her efforts to subvert
the voices that won't let her be,
the demons that she holds at bay
The black saints, the nay-sayers.
Because day by day
her bindings fall to disarray
She sees the light
with her perfect sight,
she hears her voice;
and does, in jubilee, rejoice.
Because soon shall be the day
when the black saints' black
turns but to gray,
and fades away,
the day her heroine's heart
can now proclaim
she made it through the pain and shame
and arrived unto a better place
a brand new world of light and space
and she walks the path before her feet,
and walks with grace, her voice so sweet.

© 2011