Now just bits of crumbled paper
Line a weathered kitchen’s floor, of a hearts un-spoken word.
Not able to express in any way
Of all things, buried deeply and un-heard.
To take them out, if only one by one
Is a pain, rather one not now endue.
But try as one may, to capture their memories meaning
In the mind, somehow jumble and become just a blur.
“Can it be”, one asks themselves?
Is this buried pain, so hard to face?
Why is it that the mind can’t explain?
What a heart now needs words to embrace?
“Please help, Oh Lord! ” Let sins release
Can not take this torturous sting, of past regrets much more.
Allow this heart and mind to again re-live
In every word yet written for cleanse, make' pure.
By: Linda Winchell
Copyright: 2009
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like how you made a memory into a crumpled ball of paper. Good imagery.