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September 25, 2023


By Abigail George


I forgive Ambronese (for the hurtful things that were said)
  And I forgive Rooka.
 The love they never
  gave me. I went through years of darkness.
  Deep suicidal depression.
Masked by illness and disability.
 There's a world out there
  Filled with dreamers. For
  Every dreamer there's a sinner.
  For every sinner, there's a
  Dreamer. I am always writing
  From my heart and there's
 Truth in what I write, of this
  I am aware but I'm always
   Asking myself these days,

 Am I writing for God, for the Lord Jesus Christ.
I am writing for His grace, for His glory, for his
 There's a waiting game. A time for everything
 Under the sun's grace, the glory of the moonlight

 There's order in suffering (death must come).
  A kind of finality. There's chronic emptiness
And a wound that just won't go away.

  There's the emotional reading of matter.
 The writing of the future is an invasion.
 The writing of the past folds of metaphor.
 Knots that have to be undone with fury.

There's madness in embracing the paper.
 The image of the blindfold staring forth.
 Love and family life has always nourished
Me, my soul, my wandering spirit.

 You're the woman with white shark teeth,
  the storm in her eyes and an alphabet in her
 soul, I want a man to say to me. To discover my faults, my limits,
 My intellectual-side,
the history of my shadow (the wolf in sheep's clothing). It is
 in that man's arms that I want to lose myself in.

Article © Abigail George. All rights reserved.
Published on 2017-12-04
Image(s) are public domain.
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