Freedom - Death - Day Twenty Five

Quietly we slip out from under the veil
With our dignity hidden away
In folds in our skins
That the years
May or may not
Have made
Silently we slip across the floor
And creep out the doorway
Hanging in limbo above your head
Whispering softly into your dreams.
We have shed the mantle
That tied us to ourselves,
Or to your image of us.
Creatures of the wind,
We drift along now
Free of form, of fixture
Of certainty,
Exultant in
The freedom
To not exist.