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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Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus || Love is rich with both honey and venom

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