Sunday, July 20, 2014

Distillation



The bitter draught,
a cup of suffering.
The un-loved past, and
emptiness.


That hand of hope,
was freely given;
mending the breaks,
and marks.


A Light in darkness,
and the swirling noise
of accusing voices;
now 
hushed.


My cup filled with
the distillation of a bitter past;
Now makes every living moment
taste sweet.


©Lisa Guinther 2014


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