When Amen fell,

rolling over and over again, dodging the stinging, pitter-patter drops of her incriminating past,

she gained a silent strength.


Pulling down, as she went, the illusory blankets of uncertainty

cast and caught along the textured walls of her recollection.

And with each fall a finality gripping against the cold pangs of a questioning mind.

A mind begging for one more round through the fog, familiar.

Until time and grace firmly pressed her heart to murmur.

To speak.

To no longer betray the truth that pushed her to the edge.

Leaving her on her knees to face the storm that shook alive the deep pent resolve that gave her her name.

And broke away the well worn armor that held her hostage.

The key being on her very own lips

when she bravely spoke,

“let it be.”