Taint my skin with sweet molasses
the sweetness a scourge
overrides the senses
a narrative spoken
a tale long shared
the thick syrup
clings to my hair.
Do not wonder at the analysis of yesteryear
it is long gone
yet they all keep resurfacing
is 2022 the year?
The year for spirits rising
tell me this: the tone, is it worth
minor energy spent,
my time for them they are a-calling
I feel like it’s just a time pass
and I hope they’re not hoping for more
here, no longer illiterate at
far more confident to the core
I can see far more clearly now.
© 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
Image from magwood_photography on Pixabay