Lacy MacAuley

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a home for my pen, projects, and passions

bus of stories

A slow packed bus carrying stories.

Mine, of joy.

Hers is one of pain that has simmered slow, steeping in a bitter broth.

His is tired and moving slow, held back by histories and untold dreams, half-realized but not allowed to go all the way.

Hers is one of a heart that loved – that reached out trusting to waiting hands, hands that seemed so soft and honest. Yet they turned hard and cold with some frustration.

She was stricken, she shrunk back. She is now afraid to emerge and step into a new place made glowing.

Let me be the light that shines into these sorrows, now in my happiness.

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Filed under: lacy's life, poems, thoughts and philosophies

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