The Anger & Her Voice

Conversion of St. Paul

Ranting and raving he was drawn into the fire

Crimson flames unfurled around him

The effusive warmth fanned his ire

Yet anger didn’t set him free.

“Look at me” she said, the sound rolling off her tongue

Waves of it cooling his heated blood

Vapours rising as the anger subsided

Cleansing the red  to usher in the blue.

It wasn’t her words, but only her lilt

A melody not of this plane.

The sound transformed his inexorable guilt

Easing his heart as well as his pain.


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