Let’s go then, you and I

To the place where the earth meets the sky,

Where dreams and reality softly collide

And there’re no shades of black and white


Let’s find ourselves a clearing, at the end of the path

Where the seasons whisper as they busily pass

Where shooting stars occasionally pause their fall

And an ageless solitary tree, laden with unnameable fruit, stands tall


In that clearing, where dusk forever melts into night,

We’ll ignite some memories, for warmth and light

We’ll camp besides their fire, its sparks awakening a slumbering creek

And there, below a gluttonous Moon, we shall speak


We’ll trade our stories, some unheard, some unsaid

Some nights we’ll tell them, and on others, we’ll become them

We’ll lose ourselves in them and then, perhaps with a little regret,

We shall also find ourselves in them


We shall strip and show each other our scars,

As mementoes of journey and not badges of war

We shall speak of hurt, of betrayal and we shall speak of our sins

We shall speak of doubtful victories, fleeting vindications and of defeats that linger uneasily under our skins


We shall not pray or hope for any miracles,

We shall be our own soothsayers, our own oracles

Speaking to rinse our souls, and to perhaps break free of the shackles

Holding us fast to all our debacles


And then, in that clearing, where words don’t redeem or revile

Where they neither sting nor cure,

We’ll stop speaking, and let the silence heal us for a while

Repair us just enough, that we’re ready for Life to break us some more









3 thoughts on “Purge

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