A Clean Slate
The past folds itself like tired wings,resting in shadows where time forgets.The page before you is white,soft as dawn,untouched by blame or regret.Begin here,where the air is still and kind,and the earth keeps no score.What you leave behindis not a weight—only a story that ends.No eyes hold you but His,no chains bind you but your own.Step gently.The ground aheadwaits to learn your name.
johnthegriot.com/poems/a-clean-slate