Under The Sky

Under the sky
still feels like heaven,
she remembers the illusions of peace
over that time of being thought as perfect
and dressed in that gown of purity,
it felt so good inside as if it were real,
instead of the myth massaged by those
who craved to make her just like them.

But ivory plumes of whitewashed feathers
can’t soar through the darkness
without eventually getting stained,
then falling off when she tripped
to find out there wasn’t only evil in the soil,
which she was told would make her sick and insane.

In her heart the walls crumbled
the fear of forbidden collapsing,
suddenly finding pleasure
among the places she thought would only give pain.

Now she lives in that place within her soul
filled with truths she was told were lies,
no longer tasting the bitter fruit of false holiness,
forced to accept that curse of gossip’s reputation
by those who used to try and keep her
chained in a sanctuary.

Still she sleeps with so much more joy
from being undressed of that sacred robe
because it never fit anyway.

How life has such calm and happiness
when you are a sinner who is more of an angel
than a saint that ws more of a demon.

The air is always easier to breath
if it isn’t tainted by deception’s pollutions.