beauty, love, poetry, Uncategorized

At the wheel

These moments

Pass and I will not

Cling to them

Went down into the blue

Depth of wound

Learned to breathe

Through and find treasures

At the bottom

Those who took things

Took part in the wounding

I’ve forgiven them

And sat in a warm kitchen

I feel the world turn

Not on a knife

But a potters wheel

Clay being moulded

Into something

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3 thoughts on “At the wheel

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