She was mute all her life.
Though she spoke words
In dumb agony of reproach
Rage-built torment of unredeemed
Days past when deeds were done wrong
And wounds like serpent bites
Had devoured her tongue
Leaving voiceless fury, unsung tears
Among goaded offspring
Of jealous hate
Where a child of flesh
Fed on milky vinegar
Beneath her ravaged gaze
Hears mute anger
In jagged commands
And runs joylessly to the sound
Of her voice.
Dreams from a Pilgrimage 
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Have a great day 😀
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Thank you very kindly, not least for the invitation. I appreciate your stopping by!
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