Buried

It started one day,
when I stopped to
listen.
The silence had died,
my memories
glistened.
Remembrance of times,
that my hands had
buried.
Unloading the pain,
of rocks I once
carried.
A basket of goals,
led me to my
escape.
Envisioning views,
of beginnings
undraped.
Sensations provoked,
strayed emotions
now found.
Lost in reflections,
soon awakened
by sound
.

– Grace Y. Estevez-Reddy

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