The Free Spirit

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Arms spread wide to touch the sky,
She embraces all she is,
Not missus or madame or ma’am or mom,
She is definitely a Miz.

Her heart, it soars, it flies, it sweeps,
It blasts all in its path,
In fiery passion and flaming expression,
Her joy can flash to wrath.

In highs and lows, there’s no mid-ground,
Adventures are a must,
Experience is first upon her list,
In this, she’ll always trust.

Brazen and brave, she takes such risks,
And always bets her all,
And though catastrophe abounds,
She learns from every fall.

Her heart is light and heaven-bright,
Still full of innocence,
The twisted world has not impressed,
Or made its own imprints.

The future, now, still seems far off,
She’ll plan for that tomorrow.
Today, she’s all wrapped up in now,
And trouble, she won’t borrow.

She’s currently in the prime of life,
The world bends to her will,
And though someday, her age will fray,
For now, she takes her fill,

Of life, of hope, of love’s sweet passion,
Imagination free,
She revels in joy and tastes the day,
Content to simply be.

~Amarine Rose Ravenwood

Originally Published by Voice of Eve, Issue 2, 2018

Middle Age

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I’m not consigned
to old age, yet,
although my youth
has lost the bet.

I still have passion,
heart, and drive,
and in my inner soul
I thrive

Although I like
a rocking chair
as much as anyone,
beware

that’s not my forte,
not my place:
I’m not done
with this long race.

Don’t unsee me,
Invisible.
Don’t mark me off
predictable.

You don’t know me,
from what I’m made;
where I am opal,
you see jade.

I still have spark,
I still have fight,
I’m still willful,
with all my might.

and just because
I look an age,
don’t use it as
unfair presage.

I dream, I dance,
I fly, inside.
In my heart,
I’m still a bride.

You think you know,
Like age tips fate;
Like golden youth’s
the only trait

But I know me,
and I am strong
and though I’m not young,
I’ll live long

and this is nothing;
just the gate
to better things,
if I just wait

You think you’re young,
well, that’s just great –
your soul’s just twelve;
well, mine’s just eight.

The outside shell
don’t tell a thing,
it doesn’t say
what life will bring,

It doesn’t say
how sweet the soul
it doesn’t show
the endgame goal

All it does
is mark the years
the smile lines
the trace of tears

and shows I’ve lived
from here to there,
and shows I’ve learned
just how to care

but my essence
still remains
despite my losses
or my gains

unchanged inside me
my deep core
which will remain
forever more

and that was young
‘twill never age
no matter wrinkles,
what their gauge

for what’s inside me’s
like a bird
gentle, light,
a breath of Word

and though I am
no longer young,
my journey, here,
is far from done.

~Amarine Rose Ravenwood