A moth scatters dust in my room
She is beautiful without being vivid
Again I am ugly, impatient
In Life's waiting room, too often
Angry at this sister I have, or think
I do. Only to find her invisible
Dissolving into empty vapour as
The seconds tick through this thick
Glass. The moth comes to visit me.
And I see I am a brute, who is
No longer acting, because there is
No more script left to play and she
Is singing the words by heartstrings
Knowing each step is against herself.
Laughing at the irony of curveballs.
Love is, a double edged sword, we
So willingly burn flowers and words for.
I, the Goddess, am again the Slave.
Posted by
Marilyn
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