The Mantle is Empty

It wasn't for you,

that I broke these shackles,

slipped free from the weight

of your shame

I chose to cross over the ghost of you,

climbed down from the mantle

of victimhood

where you had cased me,

one of your 'trophies',

trying to gild yourself a champion

with the medal of others

Flowers bloom where they are watered,

so I let go

of the old, dry dirt,

the mud you'd hurled,

while digging six feet deep,

thinking you'd bury me.

I rooted myself,

amongst nurturing rivers,

that guide me,

and fill me,

mountains that claim me,

their ridges echoing,

forgiveness

is a reflection

of freedom