Guitars, clay and what you find in the wind







The trauma of yesterday dropped in bales of hay

You know you wish it away

At one time it formed you like clay

But has since mushed and washed,

Then blown in the wind

You don’t carry it any longer

As you are made stronger

Like a guitar string; sturdy and flexible

You are fine-tuned and not marooned

Like music, your voice amplified and broadcast

Through the waves and not muffled in caves

Or stifled in the wild

But is a sweet melody, soft and warm hue and more than on cue

For a time as this white gardenia bliss

Healing from long ago saturate you, glow

Blessed is the name Jesus, soft and pure, light and full of might

Women Empowerment Solutions-empowering women from domestic violence

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