How does hell become so close to our bones,
that heaven is
not seen in our eyes? How do we move past what harms us, in order to
hold the
things we never want to forget?
Sometimes the heart belongs in a body bag, and
other times,
the sandbags are meant to save us. Leaving behind the twinkling stars of night, as moon shifts to daylight.
Standing in this place, no words needed to speak, quiet is all I need. I swore I would ask the birds, but words just don't come easily. How to
part the clouds, to find the silver lining, a poet in paint, as I float along the road.
I keep putting one
foot in front of the other, very determined to finally arrive, at the
place I
was always meant to be.
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