a woman of words lacks the words and the words won’t return to be wasted

 

a woman of words lacks the words

and the words won’t return

to be wasted

no, not again

not like the years

spent yearning

for compassion’s promised

by vows vilified

not like the hour glass

emptying itself

a pale, solitary dune

gathering the grains

of her self respect

and she is

a consummate collection

of minutes

a wife, withering

a bride, bewildered

a mother, mercy-starved

the words want not

for suffering

a.duncan, 2016

 

 

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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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