Once fated to be
placed in a small enclosed room
With the fire in the
grate blazing strong and full
The once balmy
warmth, feels now more like a tomb
Flames crackle,
leaping above ever so high
Blackening the
ceiling, scorching the walls
As if intent on
charring to ashes the very skies
She lives and
breathes within, doing her chores
Diligently attending
to everything for an eternity
And more, looking
not at those tightly closed doors
But through the
window a fresh new morn now shines
A gentle breeze
wafts, curving freely divine
Awakening a need to
breathe free in glorious springtime
Overwhelmed, she
strives to try trap the fluid wind
With outstretched
fingers spread wide in greed
Hoping to make the
Mistral for her alone, to sing
Soon sweat on her
brow forms to dew dropped pearls
As suffocating
confinement now her finally overcomes
And she feels faint
as if caught in endless whirls
Vision blurs, as
gasping for breath she burns so hot
And struggles with
herself to make sense of her lot
While maintaining a
dignity and temperament of sorts
The conflict
engulfs, while the Mistral blows free
Although indoor
stands she, crazed and anguished
Yearning for the
cooling touch of the renewing zephyr
Her hunger to hold
the alluring sinuous air
Slowly subsides as
she gradually admits her fare
As writ clear on
those charred walls that are there
Accepting that she
needs to soak the caress of the wind
From that
revitalizing sweep of the flowing spring
For rejuvenation
needs that life-giving brush therein
So throws open she
the windows as the shutters swing
Even if only for a
brief while to let life and love in,
While acknowledging,
to survive, she must let destiny win!
