Tither Poem by Sarah Hardin

The willow tree sways
the breeze dense upon fractured
repentive vows.
He never shocked me into believing,
I just accepted at face value.

The gun was heavy in hand,
my fingers bone white with stress.

The bullet never targeted the victim.
An explosion that rocked both east and west.
A blow to the heart.

I trembled at the foot hills
that wounded the countryside,
just like the hole in my head.

I am making my way to redemption.
Depoist me on this side of hell
until I make my own heaven.