These battered wings still soar
Beneath clouds of gathered storms,
You, miraculous survivor,
Are teaching others how to fly.
In your bruised hands,
You hold fragments of others' hope
Like precious stones,
Polishing their troubles away.
How strange and beautiful,
That from your deepest wells of pain
Springs this endless fountain
Of so much kindness.
They'll never know
The weight of the hurt you've carried,
As you transform the darkness
Into a lamp for lost souls.
You are the paradox,
Broken and whole,
Scarred and healing,
Empty and overflowing.
Your gentle soul speaks
In the language of second chances,
Showing that there is hope
To every invisible heart.
©️Lizzie Bevis
I thought that I would just roll with my thoughts and write in free verse as I lay awake listening to the rain and try to sleep.
I hope that you enjoy reading this poem.
Take care :)