Possum


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If she could take my pain away…she would.

But it is mine to own.

She can search the hurt…but the hunt would remain…not hers.

So often…the urge rings out…

‘What can I do to help?’

Yet, these barren wastelands are custom-made for self.

And, within the bouts of relief…this much is true…

This much is true…

When I reach over to feel a long…long ago…scar.

The distance between it and now…seems so far.

And, though, I remember the pain it bought.

imageedit_9_9934820279I remember…most, the love it brought.

To pray for the suffering to end…

Would be participating in a childish game of pretend.

She would take my pain if she could.

Yet, there is no reason that she should.

It is mine to own…

both the bad,

and,

the good.

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