This poem is spilled milk
This poem is forgiveness
This poem is healing.
Sour pools around boots
that tiptoed around secrets
until a blind eye lost its excuse.
This poem is spilled milk.
Sweeping glass until the bleeding stops
gives anger fertile soil in which to root,
but survival plucks hate from its stem.
This poem is forgiveness.
The clock doesn’t own the hours of pain.
There’s no ransom to pay when enough demands freedom.
A spirit flies where tears no longer reign.
This poem is healing.
This poem is a glass now full.
This poem is anger released.
This poem is living without scars.
Comments
using the spilled milk consistently in your poem makes it even stronger.. I had to check and see that the spilled milk is indeed an idiom in English as well as in Swedish.
To forgive is divine
And here lies the answer
In this very simple