Memory
The wind doesn’t have a plan
It doesn’t know where it came from
Or where it’s going
It just is, it carries itself
Like the memory of one in an aged home
Longingly she misremembers and in it frays
Where do we go now or do we?
Some repeat the same ragged line, over and then over
Your memory lingered as a hot blistering day
And the breeze of forgiveness carried
One of us had to let go so the wound could too
The reconciliation of the Holy Spirit healed the wound
And the Wind moved on in forgiveness
Most time your mind seems lost and words are spared
But the eye that sees me, burning my heart it has a voice
It tells me I love you with all your terrible faults ,deeds
Im your memory, wind and Mother and I will always hear your voice
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2021
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