In the pitch dark

Where woundedness can be refined into beauty a wonderful transfiguration takes place.”
― John O’Donohue

in the pitch dark

In the pitch dark,
she felt the stench
of bitter wounds
Like Velcro to forbidden things,
clung like glue!

Sticky and relentless,
thoughts took hold,
and in their destructiveness
her caged mind

Powerless to procure,
command to fly,
she was blinded
by unworthiness,
a life

Pressed down
in darkened embers,
her wounds
were plain to see.
Scorched beyond
she longed
to be set free

Like blackened shards
of toxic waste,
she looked bitterness
in the face,
and from the deepest forms of grief
beauty was beheld.
in loveliness and faith
her inner fear was quelled!


The language of the heart

Because of our kinship in suffering our channels of contact have always been charged with the language of the heart.
― Bill Wilson

language of the heart

in this place of strangers
i found you
locked inside your darkened home,
your face not apparent
just an outline,
a secret location
where i bared my soul
and in knowing you
i came to life

with love
and acceptance
your open arms around
my shattered dreams
buoyed me up
in a sea of pain
and longing

i didn’t feel alone
in this mystical place
where cathartic words
in pitch black grief
and found belonging
on Earthlings
with no home but this

to bear the courage
and spill those shards
of brokenness
on ears and eyes
that drink in their own torment,
yet bravely mouth words
that restore
the hope
buried deep
deluded reveries

wounded ones
into knowing
that change
is possible
wounds can heal

Picture courtesy of Dave Herman