Monday, April 30, 2012



Watching the flame
burn brightly through the paper,
We can see old memories fading away,
and slowly becoming ashes,
Ashes that form a small
pile of residue
from our past,

Ashes that capture an ancient hurt or injustice,
That collect in the bottom of a glass dish,
Where they wait to be disposed of,
No longer a part of our minds,
Burned from our memories,
So we can move forward in peace and joy.

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