Words Penned in Pain

Accusations rain,  
Oh, what bitter pain.

"If you were only wise,  
You'd have won a better prize."

"It is your fault the cat won't stay;  
Your anger chased its heart away."

Daily they make my own heart break,  
Like being forced to eat sour cake.

Am I a poet,  
Yet do not know it?

Words are penned in grief and pain;  
What lasting peace can I obtain?

Cuss words whispered, harsh and loud,  
Can never make a good heart proud.

Every wound becomes a scar,  
Reminding me of who we are.

Every sigh I breathe at night  
Prays for just one ray of light.

I search for kindness in each day,  
Yet watch it slowly fade away.

The mirror asks with silent eyes,  
*"Will truth survive beneath the lies?"*

The tears I hide, no one can see;  
They fall like rain inside of me.

Still I choose another dawn,  
Though yesterday's bright hope has gone.

For storms may roar and thunder cry,  
Yet clouds do not own all the sky.

A gentle word can heal the soul;  
Forgiveness makes the broken whole.

So though accused, I'll stand once more,  
With weary feet upon the floor.

For God still knows the unseen fight,  
And turns our darkness into light.

One day these verses, born from pain,  
May help another hope again.

Perhaps a poet I have been—  
One writing truth from deep within.