angela dunning, poetry, personal growth, healing

Slowly I’ve cottoned on
I’ve learnt to listen to my Soul
And her whispers
No longer am I surprised
When faced with a new direction
When the one that I had
And clung on to
Needs to die
And be buried.

Now I’m more used
To the twists and the turns
To the shocks and the gasps
As what I felt sure would endure
Starts to unravel and feel old
And I’m left reminded
That the only thing which is certain
Is change itself.

As my Ego grips tightly
My Soul in-turn relaxes
As I dare feel what it’s like
To let go and trust
Even when what is ahead is unknown
A blank canvas awaits
Crisp, clean and white
Or black, ripe for birthing
Something new
And that is all that I am sure.

How hard to let go
Of that which gave me purpose
Of that role I once fit
So perfectly
So neatly
So sure.

Yet what is dead is dead
No use trying to revive
Rather, to aid in the composting
To lay the bed for that which may
Yet surprise and unfold still.

To fill me with wonder
And joy
A new calling perhaps
Once the new alignment
Taking shape deep within
Is complete.

Angela Dunning, 21st June 2018

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