What was lost, wasn't.
What was stolen, remains.
What was removed, holds.
When I began to dream these truths it gave me solace.
A kind of peacefulness.
The rain can wet my clothes, but it can't touch my soul.
The winds can cause me to chill, but can't blow from me my spirit.
What was doesn't matter, only now does.
What remains, is just that.
What holds cannot be removed, as it is a part of me now.
Bullion Grey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-kind-of-peacefulness/
