A cryptic spring tale

The place where my voice was silenced
is opening up my black heart.
Spilling out the sticky tar,
the memories of time lost and spent.
Drilling holes into the wood
to seek shelter.
Newborn in judgement.
Listening.
Moving.
The angelic numbers of fullfilment combined.
Viewing myself in a new light
which shines straight into the core.
Radiating back all that
which was meant to be.
The suffering in spring.
The pain of growth,
of letting go.
Shed your skin and awaken.
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