Healing

The words wash over me, cleansing, healing
Filling in the cracks and chips that time has made
Not one syllable do I know from a spoken language
Or at least that I have been taught by any man
But my soul accepts their soothing
It tells me I understand when I should not
And that it does not matter
For what are words but an expression of the soul
If the soul could not be heard in all dialects and none
In any language and many
We are alone all of us,  forever.
So I allow the ancient words of all our ancestors
To enter and teach me to be
Just to be still to quiet my mind

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

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Author: ailsacawley

I have written since I can remember. First inspired by the wonderful stories of Roald Dahl, the Brothers Grimm etc. I adore myths and magic of all sorts, though I read so many genres it's impossible to classify it all!! Some of my poetry is truth with a healthy (or unhealthy depending on your view!),dose of magic and fiction and others are pure fiction. I'll leave you to decide for yourself which those are! Please stop by and enjoy and glad to make your acquaintance. Feel free to leave a comment 🙂

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