by atma anna christ

Soft skin under my fingers the rose breathing in essence

praying for the seemingly impossible the direction into total loss

Into oblivion into reality into manifestation of unknown forces curving my past 

Anticipating  future relics into parallel time line

mocking coincidences knowing the impossible 

Trained in patience the  lady seemed but it was a feeling of redemption she was missing

elegance slipping into my fingers satin white fragrance dying slowly emitting the resonance

of the ultimate healing  in a place of people unable to walk or sing as a matter of habit

the healing you have been asking is here now…


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