Yvonne Evanoff Poet Quatrain

Air Breathed In, Thick With Sorrow

Air breathed in, thick with sorrow,
The night too dense with pain,
This sunrise barely compensates,
For battles fought in vain.
 
Care has taken up its place,
Behind her weary brow,
Drowning out the happy sound,
Of friendly laughter now.
 
The pain that racks her weary form,
Mere words could ill express,
The toll it takes upon her heart,
Her lips must now confess.
 
Perhaps the bruises left by hate,
Should not have been revealed,
To those who turn their heads away;
From the elect concealed.
 
She dares not hope this pain will pass,
The scars, and nightmares fade,
Will time succeed in killing off,
What greed and anger made? 

And when it's all been said and done
The final word it's tongue shall leave,
Will that word be filled with hate,
Or will it love conceive?

 
YLE

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