Poetry becomes
a pocket of pain

Catching my
tear drops,

Storing them
in a memory
of etched notes.

Sunshine doesn't
follow me..

With my scares
that are healing,

Help Jesus
me to escape

From these
drowning
droplets,

They're beads
of soft falling pearls.

Pockets of poetry
cups of gray clouds.

Copyright belongs to
© Benita-Staebell-M.

Written June 10 2017