What Women Give

I lower my hands in my grave, once again,

Vow to forsake this old place.

My ships know no harbor, my heart knows no love.

I am old, in a world made for young.

I was born to a farmer, a simple simple man.

I was raised by a mother, doing the best she can.

I still live deep in the mountain in a forgotten rundown cabin,

Hope my daughter finds her own way to go.

A child is born, woman is made

By the years of sorrows with a constance that leads

To wrinkles, tired hands, and a backwards smile that never fades.

Follow me

Follow me home, child.

Follow me

Follow me home, child.

I raise my hands in a cruel world, once again,

Vow to chain my dreams and grow.

My ships know no harbor, my heart knows no love.

I am young, in a world made for old.

I have a lover with long locks and very fine skin.

I have an apartment with no heat and no bed to sleep in.

I am happy in this city with its torrent of sound.

I often think of my mother and wonder…

A child is born, woman is made

By the years of sorrows with a constance that leads

To wrinkles, tired hands, and a backwards smile that never fades.

Follow me

Follow me home, child.

Follow me

Follow me home, child.

I lower my hands deep down inside of my grave,

Vow to forsake this old place.

Beyond Reflection

Through a maze a stained glass I travel.

Gaze here, in the bent light, to see where I’ve gone.

In images of saints and mist I am easily mistaken for good.

From my hallow perch I watch you pray

On knees that are bruised with indifference.

Candlelight flickers and creates darker shadows

For every devil to cower in.

And in the conflict I am caught,

Somewhere in the middle of shelter and too much light,

Waiting to be shattered.

night

I suck at sleeping.

In or Out?

Within the constraints of ink I’ve posited the idea of you.

You read each line, circled each mistake in red.

My already crooked hands twisted against error,

but rusty steel smiles cast no reflection.

Against Time

I’m in a place of kings,

where dreams are filtered through falling leaves,

trying to remember the ghostly hunt.