Excelsior

by Columbine

Fledged and unfettered, the blest angel-beast
Greets now the dawn of its will
The shadows of sour superstition retreat
The church-bell is silent and still
Where briars of bashfulness once choked the path
We tread now in self-chosen chains
No more do we strangle ourselves with restrictions
We've handed each other the reins
Washed clean of the false approbation of strangers
We strut in the stripes struck by friends
That mirror but faintly the marks on our hearts
Complementary means to the ends
So after these aeons of futile rebellion
We've come to accept what we are
A scream of more eloquent meaninglessness
A wider, more prominent scar

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