souls shuffle

holes of doubt

silently worn

on their route

eyes reborn

reflections hurt

pain opened

feelings on alert

smooth the rough

among and above

living praised

spirits raised

with gifts of love


Ruth Newell Aug. 9, 2011 @ 6:50 p.m.

Reading your stuff always moves me. Always. And, equally as poetic I think is what I overheard as I read this through the second time: " So we make lemonade from lemons."

'Nuff said, aside from thanks.


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