Form Free

Unshackle me from hibernation.

Ounces of history hurt my eyes.

My eyes capture history before it dries.

I'll leave you fiction of my own free will.

The leavings paint a half silhouette.

I drown in primacy recency.

First things last things finger musically.

I have forgiven anyone turned pure.

Forgiveness, not my place in the sunny yard.

Light affords restitution bravely.

Which of us learns bravery by heartstrings?

I eke out a favored ration status.

Once rations are given, faux freedom stings.

Unshackle me from hibernation.