Flowers in Pompei
Even now, the ashes are everywhere.
Forty-six generations spent digging,
chipping away at the ash become stone,
and still it remains.
So what makes us think we can undo the rubble
of our own lives in a mere lifetime?
And yet, we try, for we are a people of redemption,
of belief and yearning, stubborn
in our persistence, our need to become whole again,
to find a place in the ashes
for flowers to grow.
About this poem.
We never heal, completely. But we can heal enough.
The picture was taken in Pompei. If you ever get the chance to visit, go. Of course, I say that about pretty much everywhere.