THE POWER
Held against our breast
like a cold, jagged rock,
anger waits,
ready to be thrown
on a moment’s whim
toward the enemy,
real or imagined.
The cloak of hatred
weighs heavily upon us.
The veil of division
blinds us.
Forgiveness seems
illusive.
But to continue to live,
the breach of discord
begs to be removed.
When hands devoid of fury
reach across the divide,
wounds begin to heal.
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