A silent door, a lock of steel, To mend a spirit, bruised and real. No echo now, no hurtful sound, On this new, unscarred, fertile ground. The tether cut, the anchor gone, A solitary, rising dawn. The past retreats, a fading sigh, Beneath a clear and open sky.
poem
No-Contact
1 min read
A silent door, a lock of steel, — To mend a spirit, bruised and real.
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