Remember not the things of the past.

Ponder them not.

See and acknowledge them…

bless them even…

but let them go.

These were never the purpose –

only signposts pointing the way.

The sometimes straight,

more often labyrinthine path

leading me home.

Home to myself.

My true self.

Not the self of conditioning

or formed out of my wounds…

but my true self.

Wild.

Feral.

Free.

No longer encumbered by illusion

or the dreams of the past.

For even these have been shed.

A cloak behind which my true self once hid.

Writer of words.

Teller of Truth.

Revealer of things unjust.

Voice for the voiceless

and those who cannot speak for themselves.

This is now what I cling to

with hands that are now solely my own.

copyright Lauri Ann Lumby