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