grief of the heart that bleeds.
WHEN will solitude reside?
life, constant upheavel – death inside.
WHAT might the purpose be
of life spent in drudgery?
WILL this unworthy soul
ever be granted peace?
for the noose of life has
a strangle hold of thee?
Sea of cleansing, sea of hope
WASH o’er my soul, ’tis my
only hope.
WHATE’VER, WHENEVER thy
sigh of hopelessness doth
consume may rest be granted
to thee, atonnement of love
and generous relief.
©️PSA 29/4/21.
