The Bouquet of the Last Direction
A Poem by Frank Inzan Owen
When the soul becomes unburdened
it’s like a new saddle on a fresh horse.
Suddenly the trail feels right again,
and the strong horizon line in front of you as you turn
becomes its own form of soothing medicine.
Something of the sting and burn of the old poison may linger
but having crossed over from the Shadowlands
into new open territory, one can almost
pick …