with grief our ancestors sigh
their wants poke through a small crevice in time
and like salt to a wound
the descendants take the old to the edge
with their newer knowledge
the youth lifted imposed blinders
they put on their tough coat of skin
and created their field of dreams
the depths of which were endless
the utterances and murmuring of the past
comes from ancient bruises
that this generation wants no part of
I Write Her 
Very powerful poem Susi.
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Thank you, Sadje! I appreciate it. :)
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You’re most welcome
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That is powerful! The idea of hurt that “comes from ancient bruises” has caught my imagination!
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Awesome! Looking forward to reading what it inspired in you. :) Thanks, Val!
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