She was told from
an age so young
that she indeed possessed all
the magic she needed
within herself
to set
the worlds
to right.

She placed daisies in
her long black hair
and skipped to the beat of her
own made songs she sang to
herself each
and every
day she
was alive.

She was often alone
rarely with friends as
she found comfort in the faeries
she spoke and sang to while
the swing
blew her
hair in
her face.

She giggled when with her
only little sister to whom
she adored more than
each breath she took
each and
every day
even more.

She stood firm at home
never allowing her fathers
drunken words of pain
penetrate her self made wall
of anger, hatred and despair
inside her
mind there
stood angels.

She closed her eyes at night
wishing the demons to
disperse into the heavy winds
that howled through the rafters
reminding her
she was
infact alive.

© Sia Jane

We met on bourbon street
In 1942
With the trumpets bleat
We danced the whole night through

You went back to war
The very next day
But not before you swore
You’d be back in May

But May came and went
Back in 1952
& with each letter sent
came not a peep from you

Now I’m haunted
By 1952
This isn’t what I wanted
But what else is there to do?

We met on bourbon street
In 1952
I was the last girl you kissed
Before you ceased to exist

carefully

                     carefully
  
                                             carefully


you slipped yourself into my veins