In this place of ghosts death sings
of freedom and stone place cards
invite my knees to rest on a dandelion carpet.
Listening to the breeze converse with wind chimes
I realize this is the first time I haven’t cried
as I ran my hand across your names chiseled in granite.
The fretting grief of questions no longer plagues.
In my journey of poems I surrendered agony to ink
until sorrow wrote its way to release.
Dear parents, in this field of angels I feel your wings
brush across my heart in breath beats of calm.
I’ve cast my demons from their nest of shadows.
Real Toads ~ The Places that Heal Us
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until sorrow wrote its way to release. I have done that as well.