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Thursday, October 10, 2013


out of the broken battlefield,

out of the lonely streets,
out of the voice that cries;

out of the tears
that flow in your eyes,
out of the story
you tell me 
of the life you 

have lived, 
the cold, blight;

out of the sorrow,
out of the grief,
the hard-fought struggle,
the sigh or relief,

emerges the rose,
the rose that blooms,
quietly asserting
its song to the sky.

unfurling, like a child

that climbs,
it spreads its hymn,

its heart,
its smile.