Turning Over Ache


Nestled in the arms of a foothill, discomfort is aware of my ache.

Though the sky etches out a glorious sun…is it forsaken?

There is no warmth from the ground below.

I push this transition further and further into the granite strings to my heart.

Whether heaven be above awash in blue hue or…below in what is home.

Remorse prefer I walk alone.

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