Stunningly perfect for these days and times. Stronger than a mister for sure! Thank you, Raina. A Poet for this age.
The arch of her back
Had tales to tell
Of broken dreams
And womanhood that fell.
The tears from her eyes
Had tales to tell
Of sacrifices made
And life from inside the shell.
Encompassed by bricks
That were long dead
She rowed through life
And kept her hopes fed.
She laughed at her fate
With clowns that cried
She counted her failures
And her innumerable tries.
She lived in a place
Where birds usually screamed
Where mornings were dark
With sorrows that streamed.
There, lived a pile
Of burnt Christmas letters
They were choked to death
But not for the better.
She lived in the future
Where dreams might bloom
And hoped to wake up to mornings
With love in her room.
She sold hollow souls
And bought black stories
Bruises on her mind
Were out of her worries.
She, was a flower
Of the virgin garden
View original post 80 more words
Thank you, Karen. This poem is such an expression of what is going on.
LikeLike