
Chris Worley
Oct 211 min read
The Bridge
Slivers of my soul shattered, unbound scattered on the ground. Reflecting refraction, sun’s rays melding, welding, healing, slivers into vessels, vessels into heart, heart into soul. Now made whole again with heart and soul, I become a new thing. Not a no thing but a some thing. Parts less than whole, whole still incomplete, but somehow not deplete. So I rise from the death bed of free will. By what strength: obedience, recalcitrance? Neither mine to grasp. Free will itse
