Freed Poem by Elizabeth Shield

The morning was cold, but the sun was bright
on that decisive day when wild delight
twinkled in the fallen snow as fateful
footsteps falling know, from whence
they come, to where they go.

Up the old temple steps I went
brimming with nervous hesitation
to see if gods of ivory and gold
would look on me with smiling eyes
and give me warmth and purpose
But you I forgot, I turned my back
I dropped your hand, returning
to those idols cold, that burned my
skin with ancient fury and filled
my heart with feverish, fiery passion.

How fallen am I? How of the world? How lost?
That I returned to rusted chains to bind me,
and thus sustained further damage by them.
That I preferred slavery to true joy and freedom,
and let old masters continually define me.
That I let them lead me astray and welcomed
deep cuts and dark impurities.

I bled and instantly regretted, what I was
and what I had become. But you negated,
all the debts I'd left unpaid, and dug me from
the cavernous depths, that were my grave.
The slate was clean, how could it be? And
even more, that you loved me; we knocked
the idols from tainted altars and
departed.

The afternoon was golden and crisp and clear
on that fateful day when rampant fear
took hold again. But thankful, I am, that
fateful footsteps follow you, into
the bright and yonder spaces, into the blue.
Rescuer, who made me free again.