No longer guarded but conscious,
No longer stained but immaculate.
Strokes of heartache fade across the canvas
of my once-broken heart.
My bliss bespeaks of healing.
Wings folded, bowing before the dawn
I breathe that which never has taken breath
and then I am off into the Self,
a setting of the old sun, a rising of the One.

Vicki Woodyard

Comments welcomed....