Will I ever find a place,
a home to rest my weary fingers and shuttered eyes,
my fingertips so tired from tap-tapping
emulsifying my emotions,
please don’t pry,
I am so ragged,
wretched be my soul these past days,
and I ache for somewhere to rest and be content,
paper smeared with pains of yesterdays.
I am tired, bone-tired, my muscles ache too, and the
inked crimson cavalries chant
Reign over thee, Reign over thee
they’ll take my energies most willingly.
I try not to let past events
get to me,
to enter my dried-out soul that will ignite
with the slightest of sparks,
Beyond the moon is where my eyes are cast,
hoping to avoid inevitable decimation that seems
far too close
and far too soon.
When the firebomb hits,
set off by my innocent little soul’s notepaper,
I will dive with the rest of them
for cover and safety,
but my wordsmiths and bards,
where else we be if we didn’t already bear
The paper in my soul takes on shades of aggressive red,
now blackness, the depth of my plaintive despair.
Some corners though, are hopeful blue,
and mangrove yellow in certain parts to be viewed.
This is but a fork in the road,
I will marry him, marry him,
I have wedded the quill,
he is kind and reassuring,
and he doesn’t talk back,
he’s perpetually with me,
marry me, marry me,
I once begged,
we will make a life of our own,
he colours me all over, you see.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.
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