The areas surrounding my bones
are brittle
like honeycomb,
they’re soft and sweet,
but filled with purpose,
slowly voiding themselves
of madness,
hush, hush,
it’s quiet here,
my sweet.
I do not cry out
to be tasted,
purpose, like musculature,
grows with effort,
no longer wasted,
intentions flowing and
intentions pure,
vestibules explored,
tried and tested,
hexagonal spaces each are houses,
they’re warm homes,
Honey, honey?
Sure,
over my shoulder the reply is thrown.
I speak in riddles
to satisfy an urge,
presenting unknowns,
concepts,
linked could they be?
Perhaps, perhaps not,
are they unheard?
As I travel through
the pathways,
sweetened with honey, syrupy goodness,
maybe learning from the past
is right,
many lessons have already been learnt.
© 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by PollyDot from Pixabay
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