A Quest on Overdrive … :)

An eccentric rambler on life's lessons and mercies, found and lost… :)



She knows just how
It’s done.

Been on the circuit
Long enough.

Prayed to.
Preyed upon.
Eyes, hands, bodies
Whose drool
Reaches out…

Leaving such
Slime, grime
Upon her soul.

She knows those hands
That hold them strings…

And, in vain, pulls.
Only to be pulled right back.

All she hopes for
Is just this.
One day, just one day…

Those strings will
Come undone…
Threadbare, strand by aching strand.

She’d be free. Then.

That she’d be broken
By then,
She could not know.

All we need are lies.
To feather that dream.
That we will, with our hearts,
Hew with our hopes,

And nurture with our tears.

Not knowing nothing ever grows
In beds of salt.

14 April, 2017

Day#14 of #Napowrimo, 2017 – National Poetry Writing Month 2017