Maybe you were never ready
to carry a weight that’s so heavy.
If you can’t set the course,
you’re going to need to follow.
You can bring water to a horse
but you can’t make it swallow.

You have to put your foot down
to ever take a step forward.
From the city back to town,
from space bound to homeward.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
You scream your lungs out but even near her,
you’re always ignored;under detection.

Maybe you were never prepared
to share a burden that should never be shared.
It’s been a few years; it’s been some time
since you lodged your last complaint.
I’d like to believe you’re now doing fine,
and you’d like to believe you’re just a saint.

You have to put your foot down
to ever take a step forward.
Follow the air bubbles to not drown
don’t turn a drama into a horror.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
If she can’t move will you still fear her,
and her manipulation and deflection?

I sometimes forget Medusa was victim to a curse,
and I never tried to make it better but I sure as hell made it worse.
Maybe Athena could’ve been more forgiving and kind,
she didn’t have to leave her living, or she could’ve made her blind.
She could’ve plugged her ears
so she wouldn’t have to hear the screams
of the men who holds fears
of a woman who dreams.
She could’ve ripped off her nose
or just taken her voice,
sometimes that the way it goes
you just don’t get a choice.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
Even if she could scream no one would hear her,
and long ago got used to the rejection.

Under the hush of midnight’s breath,
she walks—umbrella in hand,
not for the rain,
but to hold back the weight
of a thousand watching stars.

Constellations whisper
stories of love stitched in light,
but none are hers.
They shimmer like promises
just out of reach,
their glow a quiet ache.

Her heart, a silent ember,
burns beneath the ribs’ cage—
never flickering,
never fading,
only waiting.

She is flame wrapped in longing,
guarded not by stars,
nor shelter of hands—
but by solace,
the only canopy
that keeps her whole.

And still, she burns—
not wildly,
but patiently,
for the one soul
who'll one day walk
through galaxies
just to meet her


Erennwrites

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                    Lady Macbeth and a Luna Moth

A luna moth is elegant in her green
Like Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth
Beautiful and yet somehow sinister
Those wing’ed eyes – they seem to look at us

Eyes

That measure you for a dagger or a cup
She clings to a lichened brick wall at night
Wings pulsing against that wall, waiting, waiting…
Suddenly wild flutterings as she flees into the dark!

Exit, pursued by a cat

Water runs in the same way she does.
Knowing they brought her gentle lies via guns
Barrels of bullets like music,
But they still wonder why she grew sick.

Salt dances on her cheeks and it is
Faulted for not one, but for all of the
Flowers that grew from her ears
In a matter of hours.

For the love of god,
Just skip the pleasantries.
Walk through the park,
Assign the guilt trip to your patriarch.
Pass the statues whispering ugly
Remedies in the form of an excuse.

they carried the insufferable weight
of invisible sins
on their backs and we worried
about our own suffrage.

we demanded to be seen
as strong
while refusing to let them be
seen.

we were coddled into submission,
baby-talked into babies,
and cried for our own injustices
back turned to our sisters
who needed us most.

and even now,
with this poem written in past tense
we still look passed the tension
yelling in our faces.

we chase after self,
celebrate “progress” in the name of
white accomplishments
and most belong in hell.

we ignore the truth of our history
hide behind the riveter
for stepping up to the jobs
that black women were already working.

inlay of shimmering white guilt
denial saves us from remorse because
voting is to a white woman what
blinders are to a horse.

my gentle fingers create divots within her supple skin
squeezing her,
mocking the ache in my chest
upon the first taste.

refreshed on the brightest days
splashed by the warmth of sunrays.
it’s been many long months,
in the minutes between.

and suddenly i am back on earth,
brought back to life,
her on her back,
my mouth on her thighs.

I was on the edge
not of a street,
but of everything.
The kind of tired that sleep can’t touch.
The kind of stillness that feels like disappearing.

And then
a glance.
Soft, unplanned.
A stranger with blue eyes that didn’t ask,
just saw.

No words, no story,
only silence between us
that somehow said,
“Stay.”

One stop away
that’s all.
But in that moment,
it could have been another universe.

I didn’t fall in love.
I fell into the possibility
that maybe, just maybe,
life isn’t done with me yet.