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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