Funeral for Patience

She is inside of me
with her bloody, white wings;
Little One with the shackles
on her ankles and wrists.

I want to hold her
in my arms,
but comfort cannot reach
her where she is kept prisoner.

Who died?

We lie a blood rose on
a small, sheeted body;
we bow our heads
and pray for Patience
at her funeral.

The Angry One now joins us
with her face solemn and set.