Is not rehearsed.
If the truth is faced…
And not replaced by grief.
The kind that can weaken,
When it arrives and does not leave.
It just gets better.
If the honesty of feelings felt,
Aren’t denied or excused to fake.
It has to and will get better…
When one faces reality.
To confront.
Although it comes with agony.
And perhaps joined at the hip…
With some heartache.
Confront it…
And make a clean break.
To become relieved,
It has been shakened.
It just gets better…
With each painful step ahead one takes.
Then one day the Sun removes away the clouds.
And a smile is welcomed to replace,
Those frowns well known.
But no longer condoned,
With a pouting shown and allowed.
It just gets better.
To heal one again who can now walk proud.
If the worst of it is not rehearsed.
To become identified,
And shared with others…
To sputter and suffer,
In cuss filled muttering crowds.
It just gets better,
When one’s life is not lived…
To spit bitterness and spite!
And giving up that inner fight,
To forgive and let live…
For that kind of life one deserves and likes.
Set free…
And detached,
From remorse and burdens.