The Weight of Worn

I wear these shadows like tattered cloaks,

Edges frayed from years of clinging.

Each thread hums a forgotten note,

A hymn to storms long since receding.

They once were shields, strong as stone,

Against the bite of nameless fears.

Now, they sag like ruins overgrown,

Heavy with the ghosts of years.

The forest beckons with its winding trails,

Where ancient roots entangle feet.

Each branch, a finger weaving tales,

Binding me to the thorns I meet.

A wind sighs low, a voice unseen,

Promising light beyond this maze.

But the clearing feels too vast, too clean,

Its brightness burns, its silence sways.

Yet the threads grow brittle, pull apart -

I feel their weight begin to fray.

A quiet flame sparks in my heart,

Daring me to face the day.

Bare now, I shiver in the breeze,

The echoes cling, still soft, still near.

But I move toward the light through the trees,

Each step dissolving what I fear.

The weight lifts as the air grows warm,

The past a whisper, faint and torn.

I'll weave new wings from the morning's form,

And rise when the first light is born.