I know what others think, and say…

I know the petty, mocking people-

they parade,

of life past..

They ALL haunt me nomore.

My unknown salvation-

they

wore whispers on lips.

for somebody’s mistake.

This always, under mask,

underneath…nothing more.

forge

So many years, wasted of tears,

over what some Bitch, boy, or a few had to say.

They formed someone other,

abrasion does grid

relentlessly.

The sharp, honed strength ..

refined through fire, one could say.

And on tarnished angel wings,

fading sun,

shines a moment more.

Look! rust, resembles good dust,

perhaps..

in the waning light.

Night Falls.

Hard

Silence.

Winters cauldron will,

stir once more,

ever refining the brew.

Pouring in reflections of one,

angel.

Finally free.

e.a.b.

Dedicated to my dear Sister, Trena Jane Douglas Bauer,

born November 19, 1965, leaving us all far too soon on August 23, 2016.

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