Free of all language restraints, adressing horror and the highest hopes we can ever dream of, poety is the true freedom of language. Free of fixed ideas, moving between the real and unreal, focused, dreamlike, in free of form. I am free when I write poetry, and poets make me free. For those of us who have had the darkest nights, drifting in sorrow and hate, the poet is our healer, our opportunity to find anew. For this Easter, I am turning to the eternal spring of poetic insight, always a birth, wether sacred or profane, made by the misunderstood forces of our society, in a space free of riducule, free to stand on it’s own. When we read these words, we are free. Language is the healer, in all forms, and our guide to better tomorrows. Writers, find your hope, find your spirit. I am here with you, and I am your greatest friend. I read your words carefully, daily. We will get through this struggle because of you.

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