Tanka Over, Again

The sword hangs above –
Mantel – put safely away,
But eyes caress it
Palms itch its hilt to hold, grasp
Power the blade promises.


Right or Wrong, we can
Become who we mean to be
If we follow dreams
Which take us, loving, beyond –
Familiar habitations.


Writing the wishes
No magic ever renders
For humans are free
Souls crave every destiny,
Love guiding all that will be.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Prompt: Do you tanka?

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