The ache is not a discomfort.
It’s anguish.
A laceration,
Piercing into the core
Of what I believed to be true.
I mourn who we were
Before the distortion
Led us to who we have become.
The ache is not a discomfort.
It’s anguish.
A laceration,
Piercing into the core
Of what I believed to be true.
I mourn who we were
Before the distortion
Led us to who we have become.
One word comes to mind gratitude, gratitude, gratitude.
I am fluid
as the river
flowing through a canyon.
I am not stagnant water
standing
still in a bucket.
I am rippling,
rolling,
unbroken.
I am free.
The darkest hours
will unravel the light.
Waiting,
questioning
the conundrum.
Disentanglement
will be late coming.
In Mariupol, the smoke
is rising.
The land is ravaged.
In the steel factory
the girl has sheltered
52 days
underground.
All she wants is to
see the sun.
It’s out and available!
As difficult as it is to remember,
the history and sentiments will remind us
that we can never afford to forget.
I am proud and I feel honored to share
these poems,
these stories that I will carry with me forever.
It's been my honor to write this book.