Wounds.
We hold
anger much
too close, wielding
it like a sharp knife.
We let it slice through us,
severing all that is good
from a heart wanting nothing but
to love. We are left cold and empty.
Until we forgive ourselves, wounds fester.
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Strong images and words really make this poem vital. I “feel” this one.
I agree. “from a heart wanting nothing but love…”