O ties that bind, imperfect love,
from days long past but firm of grip.
At last the time to cut these cords
has come to meet me in this place.
Blood of that blood, yet not the same.
Free me for good of ancient pain.
Old brown photos in wooden frames
remind me of the human face
of pain and tears and hurt and ache
so often felt but never healed.
Roses of red and yellow hues
plucked of petals, the past released.
Gently placed on photo tops as
prayers are said to heal each other.
The heart responds with grace and peace,
Loving kindness revealed to me.
The gaping wound begins to close,
a broken cord is now revealed;
A burden gone, breathing returns;
a deep inhale and lungs refill
with purer air than known for long,
ties no longer hold me back.