The rush
of the wind
stretched her face
in a smile
as the girl
on the swing
closed her eyes
for a while
and started
to sing
softly the verse
that she learned
the first time
she had
flown with
the birds.

The girl
on the swing
reached out
with her toes
for the
wide open sky
whilst
above and below
the birds
that had
taught her
the words
of their song
said
'Its time to let go'
so she did
and was
gone.

I write for two reasons:
to make myself feel everything
to make myself feel nothing

Once in awhile, neither happens.
Once in awhile, both do.

Tell me not that time does heal,
it's all a fallacy;
it cannot heal the wound,
that You have left for me.

It cannot mend the heart,
that day that you did die;
all I have are questions,
they seem to end in WHY?

All I have are memories,
of a pain that never ends;
that tears the soul inside,
with the sorrow that it sends.

With weary thoughts of gloom,
that do not pass away;
the hurt resounds forever,
I feel it still...today.

Tell me not that time does heal,
you'd be lying if you did;
time, it has not gone away,
it's only now been hid.