since leaving Lemon Grove
I’ve been oppressed
and let me tell you
the dark can get darker

along the road
many turned away
some remained silent
while others stood by

praying
hoping
holding
believing

many said
not to write
or at least
not out loud

but if they only knew
how many times
I held a pen
how many journals
were sent
and as I sat there
with pen in hand
only tears would
fall

when ink
becomes tears
pages become
warped

with every thing inside
I felt buried
with no where to express
parts died

but maybe they needed to
for other parts to live

when a forest burns
new life grows
because what once was shaded
now has light

to those who turned away
welcome back
to those who stayed
let’s move on
to those who were silent
I’m ready to listen