Poem: The Healing
Healing, a jagged journey riddled with tormenting challenges, like a dense fog absent sufficient light, an inability to see one's way clear. Yet, times of complete clarity are more than on the periphery, a body getting stronger, echoing the mind's executive command, but will there be time to realize complete awakening? Will there be time to see the new moon, the frozen crystals on the sills or the drifts of snow forming gentle mounds on the frozen vegetation? Will there be enough time to take in the melodious chants of a beloved child?
Does time really heal all wounds? I think not. Some wounds leave deep razor edged scars that tear at the very core and essence of the fragile soul, rendering it impotent to give off the radiance, energy and light it was designed to emit.
Instead, it rotates upon the earth existing, devoid of its once effulgent nature, forever altered by the harm thrust upon its sensitive coat, like a tree bent after the maligning storm drifts back out to sea.