With every word
The rush of night waves lapping across my mind
turn quiet
Your light enters the dark room of my soul
And I am redeemed

A low hum turns into a roar
whispers become chants
thunder drums beat into the heart
of all that needs telling

In a slow
carefully woven tale
An old moss-ridden porch
longs for company
in a deserted neighbourhood

A refugee
has found
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