A woman stands strong and sensuous and proud
Her mind a fractured mirror cloaked in fog
Shard by shard
The bayonet finds her way, following the sweet scent of the ****** rose
Wielding her Scarborough Fair
The sass of Parsley
The wisdoms of Sage
The touch of Rosemary
The passage of Thyme

The woman
Born of the dark side of the moon
With powers untold
Able to twist and bend the spindles of shadows and time
Fair-skinned
Lips full and glazed with cardinal sin
Slick locks of ebony
A perfumed 500 year blur
With the night's lunar charm that twinkles in her eye
And butterflies that swoon for their Madama
She
The blood child born of the union of the sun and moon
The black sheep of the dark arts
Is one with the most beloved of Umbran treasures
Is the sweetest cherry with a long-forgotten radiant smile,
A harsh destiny
Who looks to the left side of the moon for the upcoming chaos.

As I write my life down in poetry,
I expand dancing in the rhythms of words.
Comas cause a smile to rest my thoughts
for just a moment
before jumping in deep waters of the mind.
Memories and experiences surface
unloading my deepest secrets.
And when done sweet freedom is mine.
freedom to write on but another day
where poetry becomes a journal of life.

When we were younger-
especially when we were particularly heinous-
you would tell us
that if it came down to it
you would choose our mother
over us
every
time.

Is it any wonder why
I can't
trust you?

What kind of a man says
he would leave his daughters in a heartbeat
if it meant supporting their spouse?
What man settles for one over the other
when both are his to protect?

None of us asked to be begotten.
None of us asked to be abandoned.
You were there
but you were there for her.
Now I look to other men
for the security I should have been able to find in your arms.

Those hands should have been used for more than discipline;
they should have been extended time after time,
mistake after mistake,
loaning us your strength
instead of administering it.

I'm too tired to argue.
I just need you to know
why I feel this ocean between us
even when we're closer than ever
to dry land.

Writing in my journal of heart I sing,
gathering wisdom inside breath.

When tempest storms rage I write,
trying to ground for understanding.
When sky reveals beauty I write,
grounding with majestic scenes that call.

As scribe my ink becomes road
feeling the passionate words lead on page.

As composer moments vanish inside timeless realm
where words become my friends.

And while siting quietly
scripting in my journal
dreams surface as words dance on vellum field

A field allowing heart to expand,
and peace to be mine.


StarBG © 2017