In the pitch dark

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

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

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

Powerless to procure,
freedom’s
command to fly,
she was blinded
by unworthiness,
a life
unjustified!

Pressed down
in darkened embers,
her wounds
were plain to see.
Scorched beyond
recognition,
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
confessed,
her inner fear was quelled!

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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

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
reverberated
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
inside
deluded reveries

wounded ones
lifted
into knowing
that change
is possible
and
wounds can heal

Picture courtesy of Dave Herman

©allysoally2017

Wordless Wednesday