Soldiers And Martyrs

Scars are shackled to my body,
Like their memory.
They pinch and stab speaking,
"Remember me."

My hands are against my ribs,
As I sit in a small, fake bed.
I run my eyes along the scars,
Remembering what they've said.

The glass cage that surrounds me,
Six feet thick with peering eyes.
I sit still, and breathe heavy.
"A serpent can speak only lies."

Feeling chained and confined,
I shiver in white sheets.
Delirious in my captivity,
I dare our eyes to meet.

This man who rolls with thunder,
Speaks with lightning on his tongue.
I smell his atmosphere on fire,
And his electricity in my lungs.

He has the power in his right,
To extinguish my bated breath.
But he stared through the glass,
And chose to let me rest.

Through a winter I slept;
Yet awoke in the spring.
The door was open and unlocked.
There were no chains on my wings.

So here I stand at the edge,
Looking down at blue, swirling waters.
Thunder drowns out stray thoughts,
As I look onto soldiers and martyrs.

Scars are shackled to my body,
Like their memory.
They slash and wound saying,
"You haven't forgiven me."