This Is Freedom Poem by Patti Masterman

This is freedom, she said with a flourish
Having locked the door, with invisible key;
Long hours of solitude, safe in her study-
But bedroom it was, for a writer-to-be.

How many long hours she spent in its confines,
Her mind moving walls and squeezing past time,
Watching the graveyards comings and goings-
What a world window, for one of ripe mind?

She lived in her thought, and her body was pure,
As pure as the leaves outside the doors,
But she lived a grand life, in all of her visions-
With so many riches, she'd never be poor.

She was god's secret, safe in her cloister,
Revealing his beauty, more than could know,
And predicted her death, right down to the hour-
Leaving her body, as the sun sank low.