The Joy Of Restoration.

Before that

vacant canopy

the cover
over your

grave site,
for mourners

to visit,

let the canvas
of your life
know color

once again,.

Seek it out
in places

never dared,
strive to

dabble a bit
each day

farther away
from thorny gardens,
change that sharp
reef of pain,
that cuts

to your soul
into reefs of
paper plain,
and write

your hurt
into obscurity.

Become like

the water
of a brook,
running forward,
caring not

about the course,

and bubbling
over all the dirt
once trod in,
washing it away.


Like a

paper boat

with it's



into a medium

that can sail into

other's souls.



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