Rhymes

the language of the heart’s. drop.ping rain

assuaging. in time.

as they sing of my suffering and pain

lyrical broken.prose, extracting

stakes impaled

to the surface, they bring

Psalms of Old, once wailed

made New in This. hence

for me

from the silence

evermore baring Beauty

I see

Beauty. Rhymes.

Assuaging. In Time.

©2019 Jeanne Whitman all rights reserved