A mother’s hurtful words
Remembered better than any prayer
Learn quickly
For your fate is in her hands
What a way to find
Your little soul is ******

Black ink covers pink scars
A sun on my leg, a moon on my arm
Hieroglyphs of a modern type
Telling a story that's hard to type
A journey through my ages
Blood and ink mixing on carbon pages
Permanence as fleeting as I
A memorial name carved into my thigh
Words of prayer linger on the skin
Reminders in moments of chagrin
Wearing this novella of mine

In a bed splashed by mermaids,
listening to the angels sing,
pulling on every heartstring.
Watching for fairies
and leaving gifts by the tree:
"If I tell them my name, maybe I'll be free."
Awake and unmoving,
gentle eyes greet a panicked mind,
soothed by the touch of the coldest hand.
The dead listen to the sorrow of the ******.
"Imaginative child, you'll grow out of it soon,"
I repeat in a mocking tone
and laugh with the moon.

Daddy please! Stay with me!
Don't fight in that war; we're already free!
They don't want you there, but I need you here.

Father, how many years has it been? Twenty?
Was losing the war worth losing me?
You didn't stay there, but you never came here.

Can one be hopeful without being a liar?
That line is as thin as the silk of a spider
Hope left glistening, like a drop of morning dew
Praying that the thread won't break too soon
Would a fly in the web find sunrise beautiful, too?

I vacuum the rug so it feels better to walk on the next day.
And now, I understand why all of your compliments come in the evening.

The end of an era
A life ill-lived
A story well told
The role to be passed
To the next lowest class
Just as the legends foretold