Kneeling in silence, head bent low,
Fingers tracing lines in the dust below.
Her breath is heavy, her heart is sore,
She cannot fight herself anymore.

The storm within still pulls her tight,
A war of shadow, a war of light.
Her sking unravels, bending wide,
No longer bound, no need to hide.

But shapes rise beyond her pain,
To a world where nothing stays the same.
The fight is over, soft and slow.
And drifts where only infinity flows.

She is giving in and begins to feel.
Perhaps something is about to set her free.