Poem of the Past

I write you
to tell you
my tears of sadness, 
were of lightness.
Of the ability to release
to let them spill.
To grow. To accept.
To move through them.

We all walk with others in our hearts.
We all sleep to the hymn of that love,
cradled by an unconsciousness
jarred by the reality
and the hands dug deep in the earth
to accept that right
to stand or to kneel at all.

And whatever it is in your mind
I feel it in your heart,
in your hands.

And because I will not get into your heart
I will kiss away at your palms
your finger tips.


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