It is a safe place
to lean against
when I need to cry.
It keeps winter out
when the snow flies
and gales whistle.
I run my fingers
across the grain
of the wooden wall.
With each bump and groove
I deposit
fears and memories.
The dusty boards give
absolution
I forgive myself.
-Scott
I like this, the poem and the whole concept. Thanks for posting. Judie
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading, Judie. I am glad you enjoyed it.
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