roots of self

I think of the ones

who went before

and give thanks.

Their words

pulse through me

with life and death.

I sift through them

guarding

the true and pure.

The others

slip away,

drowning

in the roar

of waterfalls,

the crash of waves,

and your gentle whisper.

You went before them

and will remain.

I think of you

and give thanks.

 

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