Her Tears

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Her tears have drenched her soul,

burying the hatchet in rivulets

running red, bloody gouges

brimming with magna-cum-laude

.

(degree earned in the school of

hard knocks, awarded posthumously to

the candidate least alive). Only

genuine, soul-stirring mourning could

.

wash away such agony; only

marianas trench could hold

such fathomless suffering –

and yet, forgiveness dyes

.

her bandages as surely as

the sun continues to rise

and set on the just and the

unjust alike. God only knows

.

what it has cost her to forgive.

God only knows what it cost Him

to give her the choice. Tears

cauterise the gashes

.

 

and rise, wave upon wave

as pure as air, a mighty flood

(pregnant with undercurrent)

to wash her to Freedom.

 

The Breath of Spring

birdhouse

If home is where heart-aches hang their hats,

what shovel can make the mat welcome?

Only Chinook winds of forgiveness,

mercy,

repentance,

wafting on Spirit wings,

can melt Denial

and soften Stubbornness

with the breath of Spring.