Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.
Credit: Nick Fewings via Unsplash.
I’m down-trodden, weakling child;
Until head eases,
Lethargic fog clears; you’re near.
Days are dim, dead dreary,
Dickenasian smog dour.
Gloom plucking my heart’s curves.
Yet, within darkness rustles notes,
Silver breezes chime,
Your words are balmy bliss.
As Elijah cowering, cave hiding,
Whisper wind Holy,
Your presence revered; I’m safe.
Calm cooling waters, drench coal —
Stricken sadness; lips —
On my forehead so dear.
Lungs filled with tar-blackness,
Pain collapses tucked near you.
©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.