The salt burns the open wounds

Wounds you never knew you had

Scars you thought had healed

It burned because it was real

It stung because it was needed

Like setting a fire for warmth

Holding old snow because it was pretty

You had wished for it

You had wanted it

And now that it is there for you

You don't know what to do with it

Do we put the fire out and clean the snow

Or do we let it burn and embrace the cold? 

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a.griffiths57's picture

    Like the pondering in



Like the pondering in this poem. Lovely contrasts too. An enjoyable read.