RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Sorrow pours from my eyes on traditional mornings as
memories pop in like popcorn, hitting me squarely in
depths of my heart where I sit hiding.
Delicately touching strings of intuition and blessings, focusing my mind on the heaviness I feel quietly inside.
Watching parades of images slowly walk by, feeling their intensity, as tears flow throughout my body and soul,
trying to release pressure that sorrow brings.
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