By: Bekah Turney
I sit alone again in the dark.
The trees are lit by a dim lit lamp.
And a soft hum of its dying light
Echoes a song of comfort-
Tales of a young girl on still summer night’s.
Molecules of the air only broken by
The gentle sound,
Of words whispered through my bones-
Waiting to be spoken,
Waiting to be unhinged.
From these desperate lips I set a bargain,
Quarreling both heart and mind.
To reach an understanding,
A balance that peace can flow and bind
These sobbing opposing ends
To meet another in kind.
My muscles shake as fatigue consumes
And devours my restless hold
Of what I should let go,
Of what I have no control.
Blisters break and knuckles crack
As the soap is lathered to it’s core.
Wash away the truth
That watches me as I wake,
Watches as I place the shell over my soul.
Alas this tale is old
And I see the young girl on her stoop
Listening to the hum of dying lights
On still summer night’s.
And ask her kindly how to find her heart again.
Cause she was free, and she was me. And
Her freedom I see within.
Now reunited with a long forgotten friend.
image by: Kostiantyn Kuznetsov