Poetry

Let down your hair

The tower I am trapped in

is hidden in the darkest of recesses.

There are no ropes for me to let down,

no long locks of hair for me to weave.

If I jump, I will plummet.

 

I have been shorn, stripped of all that I am.

 

The world has gone silent.

The world has gone dark.

 

But then a pulse

beats through the stone walls.

Vibrant as morning light sparkling on the sea’s spray.

 

I hear it.

Accompanied by a scent I cannot describe,

but akin to that

of spring to a flower.

 

The darkness smothering me

begins to recede.

My hair is given permission to grow again,

and so I let it.

 

Finally, I am able

to make my escape.