Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Near  A River That Runs Deep

There's A Place With No Streets

Where I Love To BE On my Own

And Greet The Silence Of Being HOME...

In the Silence & Debra Lea Ryan
1st Verse
G6-EM/A -EM
26.04.2025
In Song @ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fh1Yv1IK0D8 < Feeling a little Meditative.
Мне не больно
Со мною вся
Неба полная бирюза,
Клокотания зов ворон,
Трав нескошенных тихий стон.
За спиною судьбы январь,
Красным бархатом киноварь,
И дорога,длинною в день,
К моим мыслям седая тень...

Свои песни тебе пою.
По земле не хожу,парю!
little Magpie, dancing your rooftop
waltz. your wingtips catch my eye

,into dizzy love, & i see one
thousand two of a kinds.
this kinda reads too clunky idk im too ****** to tell.
Attend to your wounds,
mark your losses and
bear your scars - for each
borne wound is a win,
a sacrament mark
of survival worth
the celebrating,
worth wearing on your sleeve.

Jesus intended his wounds,
counted the cross a weight
worth bearing, not counting
his wounds a loss, but a cost
worth paying.

So, He now wears each wound,
each scar a sacrament,
a celebrated win,
because his wounds won you.
In a Belfast accent, to my ear, 'wound' is heard as 'win'. Rachel **, thank you for the prompt.  See her scarred pots at rachelhoceramics.
And thank you Heather Gregg for the encouragement.
Next page