In the quiet moments,
The dark moments,
We let the old parts die,
Hold them in our arms one last time,
Silent and relenting,
As we put to rest the masks,
The need to hide, to play small,
To pretend we’re fine,
To be emotionless,
To be death
And as we do,
As we are freed,
The space that opens
Invites us to something new,
Something better we can’t yet see
Yet our restless hearts can feel
And know in their bloody, tear-streaked bones
Is real,
Is inside
By our own invitation
©SpiritLed 2018