Unfolded thoughts {#givemegrace}

threadA third person post off                                            Written May 4, 2012:

She found the bronzed topped covered box, tightly wrapped. She wondered of the contents as she ran her fingers gently over the twine. The threads began to lose shape as unwrap did she. Finally, she exhaled as the light of day entered the darkness. The contents reveled the heart of her youngest daughter. The daughter who rebelled against the Mother from the womb. The daughter she so wanted to deliver on her birthday. But, NO … this child would be born one day to soon. The secrets of the box reveled scraps of gently folded papers and she though to what we owe is this?  As she unfolded them each one by one, the poetry formed a song unsung. A continuous concert on stiffen cloth. For much time did she read the words of the daughter. The instant brew now cold to the taste. The cigarette ash now a stream. As the youngest daughter walks in. Caught is she. Caught in the reading of the poetry of thought. She tried to explain, but little could not hear. The youngest daughter could only fear … the unfolded thoughts … scattered about and free … free, for any and ALL to see.

Joining Lisha Epperson {#givemegrace}

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