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I held a funeral for a future I had always thought was coming, and buried the world's face as yet. The silence then turned me so tiny the only way forward was to dream downward to an early day on earth before a single heart beat. The atmosphere filled with an abiding, cataclysmic knowing- that if everything could be born, every thing could be born. Love promises no less. But a future is gone now. All we are is this. Our way could be to fall toward the medicine seeded right inside the untamable, fertile grief remaking things. - Brooke McNamara
This poem is in honor of my first-born son, Silas who leaves home this week to make his own way in the world, to heed Life's calling...
So much gladness! This kid, his heart, my heart... A living arrow the Archer sends forth...
What if... inside of you right now there was the precious treasured long-awaited radiant beloved You, just waiting to be born...
Huge thanks to Wild Words' first guest poet, reader and artist! Francesca Preston www.francescapreston.com
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