The Cloak and Fire

The Cloak and Fire

Upon charcoal embers, I cast this woven cloak,

Ore many years around my neck it has choked.

It’s a masterpiece of someone other than me,

Who spun threads of deception around my throat tightly.

Upon this smothering fire one that’s tended well,

One poked, pried, and stirred with its own story to tell.

I pull carefully at this tether noose to release,

For fear of hidden emotions revenge I might unleash.

Some say it’s not uncommon this rise and fall,

This need to lash out this rebuttal this heated call.

For the cloak has bound many undying unrelenting,

Remaining until the last moment before one’s soul ascending.

Stir the fire, poke the ashes this I employ,

Send sparks heavenward night’s darkness to destroy

For it is in this hour when this cloak I must release,

To burn it upon hatred’s embers I’m told never cease.

Recompense unto me the years that I’ve lost,

Upon deliverance from this cloak I now willfully toss.

And as I pull the last string that has bound me to taunt,

I’m free from its reciprocity, this appearance that’s gaunt.

Upon this fire that I see before me now ablaze,

With anger’s cloak, I stand willingly and gaze.

Now in this moment, I’m free from that which bound,

From threads that enslaved me my freedom, I’m now found.