Fly

As I've said before, when there are words
that I am gifted with, I wake up and write.

There is someone, somewhere,

that needs to see this.

I hope it finds its target

I am thankful for and humbled by the opportunity.

Fly

by Lyn Marinello

there may not be bruises

but you've been beaten and battered

isolated and lonely

you've simply forgotten what mattered

your battle scars are internal

they are ragged, rough and deep

and waves of sheer inequity

over you woefully sweep

a once fierce and fiery spirit

reduced to a mere random spark

a radiant and glowing soul

growing angry in the dark

you've been tied up without ropes

and stuffed within a box

set adrift upon a lonely sea

void of any visible docks

you've been told your dreams don't count

that you're not all you could be

there aren't any tethers

but you certainly are not free

you're walking on a tightrope

unaware you are your own net

unsure of each decision

filled with gnawing, raw regret

you stare into an unforgiving mirror

lost sight of the beauty that once was there

distraught and dismayed with so many things

wondering why life is so unfair

grounded by guilt and by fear

met with disapproval each time you try

spread your wings, my beautiful bird

for you were always meant to fly.