The Cleansing/Poetry

Wash me,

drench me,

quench me.

Fill my eyes,

tears from the skies-

Mother Earth’s pain

and mine are one.

Let me drown in her sorrow

till the moon meets the morrow

where sunrise chases the night.

We are cleansed,

washed of sin,

born anew, fresh with dew,

winging, singing, as Spirit takes flight.

Cleansed

Cheryl KP

copyright 2015