Moving out of the shadow

I am,

a spinning top,

confounded by tendrils

of exhilarating bliss.

The pieces of the path

I trudge on,

after months of toil,

finally

have clicked.

No longer full of

doubt-infested

burning blisters,

but lying heavy-lidded,

submerged,

in streams of milk-white

relief;

the final journey,

made of gossamer

strands and

yellow hills of honey,

the one I strove

for and far more

than I could've hoped

for, looks tangible

and complete.

I may, now

with a straightened

back, get out

of my self imposed

coffin, speak out,

my red and white,

golden stitched petticoat

bobbing to the rhythm

of a free body

no longer restrained

by being half inadequate.

The bleakness of winter

swept away and,

almond-smooth tone

bounces from the

disused tunnel;

my voice

has come back

and I intend to

venture out

into

the unknown,

the song of,

whipping wind

cheering me on.