Wasn’t It Enough You Took My Husband, Will You Take My Son’s Mandrakes Too

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In a moment of emptiness

she contemplated a burly wind

Not something others could imagine

but it was still there, the concept is ethereal

like worshiping a god, a figment, fancy, fabrication

another grave mark around the corner, below the words

Yet there is pleasure in a stand still, open hearts,

lacerated heads, above the image is superfluous and grand,

sweet nectar the smiles of children dancing in the rain

There might be more to it than most people could ever understand,

deep feeling, ancestral leanings have come to meet the band

Still there is absence in the rhythm, a notion never to occur

but sometimes it happens without space or action it floats above a blue sky

in a rainbow flying so gently with a broken wing a downcast remnant, a forsaken childless bird but looks can be shattered in images yet to be learned, universal random

parts, missing pieces, loosely formed estranged, outcast, never living abandoned alone

There is much to be had striking a semblance a means to perceive the outline fictitious walls that trace the memory of a wooden house complete with shiny clapboards wild shackles from a spring for there are only so many thoughts that can create a shape lacking resonance or a road to conquer fate because the eyebrows may embellish the orbit that seeks a land of its own, empty epithets have broken the pillars, ghosts and spirits live so far away rambling in snow, casting many doubts upon what was once thought to be unknown.

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