Wednesday, April 20, 2005

What Is, Was, And Always Shall Be

The numbing nectar, the mead; the need
To knead away the knots
And silence the screams

Virginal white
Or blood heavy and red
Crystal held, cool as a lover’s hand

Furtive by day
In a Tupperware cup
Stained with shame

Sweetly slips away the sorrow
And brings instead
The same tomorrow

Her mother, her brother
Her sister
Herself

4 comments:

fuquinay said...

OK, I am becoming jealous now. Don't go around thinking you're a poet just because you got lucky twice. ;)

Brownie said...

Wow! Doggy, I think she's a poet. Of course, I'm not a poet, so what do I know? ;)

Jane said...

Thank you so much!!

Moonie said...

It isn't luck, it is true talent. You ARE a poet. I love your words.