Burden of Experience
I forgive myself.
Tunnels fostered by tall buildings
shape flashbacks like wind,
striking with each corner I take,
Swirling and sweeping
the dirt of yesterday into thin air.
Hissing through clenched chattering teeth
some lips never learn to close
before choking on the debris of past storms.
An itch that won't go away
Some call it a 'tickle'
Some say, 'nothing a little water can't handle'.
A bit eroded
Until awareness unearthed
Then forgiveness was grounded.
A choice of mastery
to be free.
Comments about this poem (Burden of Experience by Mo Piquette )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley