The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
Once, we were as wingéd as birds aspiring to become angels,
ever afloat amidst the fluid thickness of dreams -
somehow, we misplaced our innocence;
all that remains are these trailing feathers of hope,
a sentient gesture, a presence of faith we might gather together,
where we may create a forest of considerable contemplation,
where we might fly again through a somber sky,
colors swirling with kaleidoscopic laughter
as freedom is rediscovered within our hearts
with every quiet thrum, every momentous stroke of silence...
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