Susan Payne

The balm of silence does not ensure forgiveness
Any more than living recklessly negates blame
And scratching and rolling in the dirt does not
Suffocate the flames burning upon our hearts
We know the song of the living is not a lament
But a passage to deeper understanding
But who has the right to define our paradise?
Smoldering ash forms ghosts on the ground
While charred flesh rises on wings
We ascend higher than the trees and clouds
Where temptations peel off and fall away
We may splinter and scatter
But always, we survive
And we learn to speak again