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 May 20 Yvonne Nice
Iska
The wistful winds
toss the waves up high
As the sea dare Try
To caress lady Luna’s sky.
 May 20 Yvonne Nice
Iska
You say that I’ve changed,
I’m simply not the same.
A stranger that stole
Your little sisters face.
What a disgrace,
To be so misplaced.
But tell me dear siblings,
How would you know?
You never see me.
I have bent over backwards
All for you.
My “loving” family,
I have broken my heart
Again and again
On the cold steel of your eyes.
I have choked on the storm
Of your torrent of lies.
I have cut myself open
And poured my blood all over
the razor whip of your cruel words.
I have cried for you
I have died  inside for you
And when you were jealous,
because I could fly
I let you tear off my wings
And chain me to the ground.
Because I was told your love
Had to be earned
I did everything you asked of me.
I gave you my everything
And then a little more
Only to hear you demand for more.
Your eyes stayed cold
And words cut deeper still
I froze from your gaze
And collapsed from the blood loss
And you were insulted
And as you broke me
You laughed when you snapped me in two
Then left me behind,
As you always do.
You expect me to take the pain
And rise once more
On trembling limbs
To trail on after you
So you can break me some more.
You demand I be there should you have the need
To always be willing to let you watch me bleed.
And yet you claim that It is I,
Who has changed,
That I am simply not the same.
A stranger that stole
Your little sisters face.
And as I lay bleeding
I realized you were leeching
The life from my soul
And I felt the betrayal swallow me whole
I gasp for air,
Running out of breath
From the noose of expectations
You’ve tied round my neck.

And then a hand reaches for mine
And helps me to my feet
Her kind eyes find my glazed ones
And in them I saw the pain I feel
That was the moment
I realized I had it all twisted.
The love of a family is not something to earn
It is not a battle
But a blessing.
And as she smiled I knew I found
The sister that I was waiting for
She was everything I needed
And so very much more.

And so I will love her
With all that I have
Though my heart is broken
It still has its beat
I may not have much to give
But what I have is yours
To keep.
Thank you my sweet firecracker
Thank you Barnacle
You are the sisters
That I choose
It may not be much but I hope it’s enough
 May 20 Yvonne Nice
Iska
The world is teetering
Tethered by a withered string
And gravity is pulling it taught

And now it’s crashing
Louder and louder
The shards splinter my skin
And rivulets of blood
Turns to rivers

You hear a sigh
Of relief
Of regret
Of release
As you find me
Drowning in a pool of my blood
A broken story
Old as time
You dream to live
I long to die
Looking into your eyes is like looking outside after it rains
There’s a certain peace after a rainstorm
And I feel that every time I look at you
You are the peace to my rainstorm
 Apr 17 Yvonne Nice
Iska
I feel so foggy
Limbs feel heavy
Thoughts feel thick
Eyelids stick
I don’t feel sick
So it must be ok..
No matter the way
Self medicate
To placate
This morbid mirror
This demonic fear
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-Job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!


the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs


summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)


but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early


got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
 Apr 17 Yvonne Nice
irises
someday it will
come again.
someday someone
will come in.

a star
with the deepest depths in the eyes
with the gentlest of breaths
and endless soul in the smile

one day
i'll forgive this pain
not forget -
forgive.
we are all destined to love again, i am sure

— The End —