This poem was inspired after hand-washing my laundry on the rooftop of the Crossroads building. Watching the newly washed shirts blow in the wind gave me a deep sense of freedom and rest. :)
Crumpled clothes dumped.
Churned. Scrubbed. Moved
from bin to bin.
Hung. Dripping. Blowing
free in the wind.
Leaves behind the old,
in dark to light pools.
Crucified. Resurrected. New.
YAY :) you should write more poems. i like!
ReplyDelete:DD very cool :]
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