In the echoes of healing, a chapter turned the page,
"I'm not sick," a declaration of a newfound sage.
No longer bound by the chains of the past,
A symphony of resilience, a love that couldn't last.
What's your favorite flower? A question, now serene,
A bud that never bloomed, in the garden, unseen.
No longer a seed, unspoken words in the breeze,
I've embraced the sunlight, found solace in ease.
In the garden of self, I've sown seeds anew,
Not haunted by what was, but what I now pursue.
"I'm not sick," a mantra, a heart on the mend,
A journey of growth, a soul on the mend.
No longer confined to the shadows of yore,
A tapestry of strength, love's wounds I restore.
The fragrance of freedom, in the air, it lingers,
No longer captive to love's delicate fingers.
So, what's your favorite flower? I'll smile and say,
It's the one that blooms in the light of today.
"I'm not sick," a whisper, a truth I declare,
In the garden of self-love, I'm free in the air.
Ps. Eugene. T. Msipa
Jan 6, 2024
Jan 6, 2024 at 1:03 AM UTC
In the echoes of healing, a chapter turned the page,
"I'm not sick," a declaration of a newfound sage.
No longer bound by the chains of the past,
A symphony of resilience, a love that couldn't last.
What's your favorite flower? A question, now serene,
A bud that never bloomed, in the garden, unseen.
No longer a seed, unspoken words in the breeze,
I've embraced the sunlight, found solace in ease.
In the garden of self, I've sown seeds anew,
Not haunted by what was, but what I now pursue.
"I'm not sick," a mantra, a heart on the mend,
A journey of growth, a soul on the mend.
No longer confined to the shadows of yore,
A tapestry of strength, love's wounds I restore.
The fragrance of freedom, in the air, it lingers,
No longer captive to love's delicate fingers.
So, what's your favorite flower? I'll smile and say,
It's the one that blooms in the light of today.
"I'm not sick," a whisper, a truth I declare,
In the garden of self-love, I'm free in the air.
Ps. Eugene. T. Msipa
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