SOUL FLIGHT
A quilted brow, crowned in snowy silk,
Crinkled eyes and mouth of lipless gilt,
Stooped shoulders, mottled arms of leather,
Sunken chest and hips in shapeless tether,
Veined legs, too weak now for walking,
Cold, blue toes from brittle nails receding.
A body aging, failing, withering, dying?
Nay, a soul confined and growing,
Matured and restless, aching to be free,
Bursting to escape the cage that keeps it from eternity.
