To write
I wear the scarlet necklace
wrought from seeds
And bold black thread.
I cast aside
His aspersions …
Like an frightened parent
Might scorn a child
Whose truth
Cuts close to the bone
A knife in a hand
Angry enough to spill blood.
I want to be
As brave as the full moon
Just before dawn
Finding the hidden secret things of the garden,
That long to gleam in her light.
lost,
Forgiven,
not forgotten.
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Tuesday, March 25, 2008
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