And the cycle continues,
a windowless fear,
diving deeper to a place she feels has to be near.
The checkered moon rises,
the light opaque,
those moments continue as he eats his cake.
Never feeling the give and take.
Lessons.
Learning.
Moments of fright.
And poised apples,
that take her at night.
At night when she is running,
days of sun gazing.
Chasing tails of the unwanted,
looming closer than home.
And silver hair prophets,
speak of love as a gift.
Gears rolling forward,
forward towards a shift.
She knows what she wants
but fears her failure.
Too true to acknowledge,
changed behaviour.
Lyrically inept and defiantly detrimental.
Don’t make it worse through the clutter,
the mind games.
Don’t delve too far deep,
and expect an immediate change.
Rearrange those feelings,
fight moments of terror.
Let bygones be gone,
and bullies be beggars.
Chest may heave and hollow,
but there is always tomorrow,
to allow wounds to settle,
and the rest will follow.
In disrespect, throw flames to the wind.
Remember there is a time,
to allow kindness to win.
And writing comes swiftly,
but meanings remain,
in brain games of dysfunction,
and turmoil of sin.
