Silent Wounds
Don’t speak of Europe—
its name still burns my chest.
The memory is a thorn,
a wound I pray will never
cut me so deep again.
It’s hard to escape
the shadow of bitterness;
thoughts circle like crows,
dark, heavy, uninvited.
Lord, take this weight from me.
Erase their faces,
their laughter, their lies.
Cleanse my mind of venom,
for though I know love is higher,
my heart still aches with hate—
and I cannot help it.
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