The colour of what is left

See how the silhouette of happy stands
with open eyes.
Shadows of the days we have forgiven,
we can’t despise.
Memorabilia opens her heart
to welcome us.
Mercy may never motion to hatred
to catch a bus.
This is the trouble with starting over;
we clear the dust.
Ask the rain to wash the sting of anger
because we must.
Pour libations for the dead still living,
and to those who’d remain unforgiving.


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