Categories
Poetry

Clear Air

One day,

she sits alone,

and understands it all.

That she’s never been alone.

That all this time

their pain has lived within her,

pain she never asked for,

pain that is not hers to bear.

Clear air is what she knows she is,

not charcoal-grey squalls,

nor black-rimmed mud.

A heavy reality,

a scared, scared world

drowns her in the darkness

of humanity’s shadow.

Until she removes the soot

and clears the air

once again.

By brookecutler2

Liver of life, lover of everything. 💕

2 replies on “Clear Air”

Thank you, lovely Keith. ☺️I think that is the absolute magic of the readerly/writerly connection. The question is presented by the writer: and the answer is whatever it is, to the reader. The answer may be exactly the same, for both. The answer may be different. Either way, the answer is absolutely perfect. Absolutely as it should be. ☺️✨

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