Unshackled
The iron rings lay on the table,
lit by the dim light of a rainy day,
no longer formidible or binding,
but broken
like the bonds of your heart,
the chains that have held your life
in thrall for a lifetime, but
one by one
have been chiseled away, opened,
falling off link by link,
until, like the iron rings in front of you,
they are no longer chains, but history.
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The picture was taken at the ironsmith's shop in Mystic Seaport, CT. You can click on it for a larger version.
Tom
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