Iron chains once clasped fair wrists,
Upright in a puddle, a culmination of sorrow,
Deep within a dungeon, frozen and withered,
Such a stone is one hard set to harrow,

From somewhere strange, from the within,
Thunder that round a clipped angel rolled,
A petite beat within breasts deep,
Frail patches of color on cheeks to behold,

A glisten, predominantly lifeless,
A sparkle within watery blackness, then blue,
Suddenly full of vigor, previously dead,
Words spoken, said, no one ever knew,

Iron chains unravel and fall at my feet,
Unlocked by the warmth that passion brings,
That melted the ice around this nature,
So I can fly free with clipped wings.


 
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