Catharsis

Sad poems.
They flow from the cracks
grown from strong trees,
falling axes, unbalanced steps,
angry words, and the cold
whispers [which were] never
muttered.

Such
poems, flow
easier than the singing
bird, bright skies, or the round
beauty found in the [perfect] spin of
a doughnut. They are
the catharsis our
fractured souls
desperately
call for.

Happy memories need
no catharsis.

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