The Hope I Have

I don’t believe in fairytales anymore. 
I no longer see you as my savior and I can’t excogitate some story where you’re a hero.

         So take your knight-errantry, your white horse and find 
                                                    another damsel in distress.

Because the saga’s ending here. 
                  This year.
                            And the hope I have, now rests inside of me. 






"It was one of those evenings where men feel that truth, goodness and beauty are one. In the morning, when they commit their discovery to paper,when others read it written there, it looks wholly ridiculous."-Aldous Huxley


submitting at Gooseberry Garden

I want

I want to be alone in a field of poppies,
Nurse, again, a newborn baby,
Forget I’ve
Ever seen a morning glory
And grasp the meaning of maybe.
 
I want to die in your arms but not tonight.
I want your truth without a fight.
I want no fantasy
but when I wish on a star
I ask that my pleas would need not
travel so far.

I need open space which  feels not cold
And when discerning truth,
Wisdom to be bold.
I want to feel the flesh of heart,
See roses, thorns and all.
Forget promises dead
And you to catch me when I fall.
 
I want to be alone in a field of poppies,
Nurse again, a newborn love
I want to forget the words to our story
And hear instead from what resides above.



Poetry Palace

A woman and man

A woman is a branchy tree and man a singing wind; and from her branches carelessly he takes what he can find.James Stephens

Thank you, Promising Poet's Parking Lot

I nominate Morning

Margaret Atwood likens it

                To an amputation;

                             I would add that it’s a million experiences of death a day.

                                      Dry heaving, even vomiting, truly eventuates.

Forget painting on a smile – walking hurts.

Now you know what

It feels like and it’s so

much worse than imagined

I haven’t cried enough yet, only intermittently but I’ve died more than a million deaths.