“Another Spring” 

Another spring starts

And the swallows fly,

Back to our gardens.

The bees fly around,

Searching for pollen.

The flowers open, 

Letting fragrances and perfumes,

Disperse in the air.

The garden becomes a playground,

And one little boy

With snot all over his face,

Is happy, 

That another spring starts.

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“My Monstrous Saviour”

You saved my soul,

last night when we talked.

You took me down,

from the hanging rope.

Your hand touched my heart.

I felt like flying high.

My dark past took me down.

And I slowly sank.

Why couldn’t you do

like you did once before.

Grab my heart with your light soul.

And pull me out of this rotting sand.

I feel like a fool,

to have trusted you at all.

You’re like the other monsters

I never let go.

And so I lay down on my bed,

my body full of pills.

I wonder when they’ll kick in,

and this sad song will end.

“The Wolf’s Paw”

I am a broken wolf.

I have lost all of my teeth.

My fur is all too thin,

and my eyes cannot see.

 

I am a broken wolf,

yet I howl in the night.

I am a broken wolf,  

yet my mouth always smiles.

 

You might have seen

my paws prints in the snow.

They are fragile and weak,

but they are a wolf’s paws.

 

I am a broken wolf,

a wolf whose head is bent.

I know that I am broken.

I show it with all respect.

 

I am a broken wolf,

yet I hunt every night.

I am a broken wolf,

yet my paws can get your eyes.

 

Though I have no more teeth,

I eat all of my grief.

Though my fur is all too thin,

I never shake in the wind.

 

In a cold winters night,

you see my shining blind eyes,

glancing up to the sky,

and my paws make me rise.

 

 

“To My Dearest”

Each time.

When night knocks on my door.

I sing.

For I know it makes it afraid. 

For me.

And the light you shine.

It grows.

It floats in my begging hands.
The warmth you give

The poems you inspire.

It lights my heart.

And burns through time as fire.
Shine some light.

Once in a while.

When the moon goes down. 

Shine some light on me.
So I can see where I wonder.

Where and when I exist

I’ll keep your light near me.

No future as slave of fear.

“A Pretty Blanket”

She is a thin rod of wool, colorful.

Today she’ll be woven into a sad blanket,

and she’ll live with the other textiles;

waiting to be picked, chosen.

She’ll live with a man, he’ll use her in the kitchen, as the object she is.

he’ll use her in the kitchen, as the object she is.

as the object she is.

When her wool will lose its strength,

I dread what will happen to her.

Broken, thrown.

I wish I could change her destiny.

What can I do? I’m just an old weaver.