Upon My Brow

by Rachel Holmes

No sound is heard,
heart-soul mouth makes no objection,
no assertions,
lips dare not move in query.
Eyes form no tears for consolation,
heavily I bear your indignation.
Real, terribly,
upon my soul weighing, not crushing.
I sit, in silence
I sit, in ashes
this is right
the offense is real, I now contrite.
And when will this pass?
When you are pleased to allow it,
when from the darkness, you alight eyes and lift.
And how can the heart bear the displeasure of he, who formed earth and sea?
In patience, lest my enemies think they have won me in defeat.

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