throw smoke bombs
divert and dance away.
just talk.
meanwhile the time ticks away
tickticktick
the tears keep streaming
.:drip:. .:drip:. .:drip:.
What's a woman to do?
Keep getting gray while waiting for the day that the transformation takes place?
-OR-
Stop waiting for the hierophant to meet my own needs
Nine years gone already
pieces of me blowing
bit by bit
grit by grit
until only my old bones are left.
The hierophant will no longer keep me from myself. Time is up. I will take my power back.
2 comments:
It always pisses me off when someone who doesn't have my degree in poetry is so much better at it than I am.
I think you have not only depth, a big heart and a great mind but also a bunch of talent. Go girl!
This is the first poem I have written in a decade. I guess if there is a silver lining to all of this bullshit it would have to be that my muse is awake again.
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