03 Feb 2016 – Once

I once sang songs to death, I had no hope of life
as that which promised most descended like a knife.
He – or she – who cares the least wields greatest power.
Love – is it a flaming sword, or fragrant flower?

Death’s apprenticeship – why speak of manumission?
Holding torch and whip – what else besides submission?
My god? An evil fiend who cursed the things he’d made.
The Inescapable who waits in every grave.

How did I break the chain that bound me to a stone?
How did I free myself from hell where I’d been thrown?
How did I break the surface, breathing just in time?
I didn’t. One day Love revealed this all was mine.