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 Apr 2017 Maggie Emmett
ryn
Moored
 Apr 2017 Maggie Emmett
ryn
.

•see-
min-
gly tied, moored to this bed•
rust
enc-
rust-
ed, e-
mpty
,beat-
en an-
•                       d un-                       •
•••                       man-                       •••
•••••                    ned•                    •••••
a wreck long forgotten... and ghostly
dead• anchored but afloat,
never touching the
sand




.
All we can do
Is tell the truth
Then let them go
Then turn them loose

No more to say
As they walk away
All has been said
It's now time to pray

The doctor says
There's little time left
To manage affairs
To make your bed

No where to run
Or you'd run away
At a break neck pace
It's now time to pray

You take a hit
When your significant
Says they've had enough
And are calling it quits

The love of another
Has taken your place
All alone on your own
It's now time to pray

The bank calls in the loan
On all that you own
No longer a job
The same with your home

Day after day
It all seems to cave
For sanity's sake
It's now time to pray

*When it all falls apart
And you see no other way
All is not lost
When you take time to pray
 Apr 2017 Maggie Emmett
Cali
I linger at skin that clings
and hollow bones
that catch in the moonlight,
pausing at mirrors
that look more like
still-life paintings-
an empty gold vase
over here where my heart
used to reside,
a fresh green sprig
where there were once arms.

There is a sickness
sleeping in my hypothalamus,
heaving with every breath,
every step, every heartbeat.
I try to look at it
and it slips like sand
through my closed mind.

I smile, and it's not
my smile anymore.
On new year eve when the sun on the west hung low
And the east wind on dead leaves blow
I paced to the yellow woods
And sat on my favourite wood
Where not long after I fell into a trance
Not of any divine trace
But a dream from my person
And I saw a vision backwards:
365 days ago, not long ago
I was on the same spot
For the familiar new year ritual
That of writing my aspirations
My fickle fingers wrote my dreams on the hard earth
On the passing sands of time
But no traces of them was left
Perchance carried by the furious wind
To the store house of wasted words
I continued in the vision backwards
When I heard a voice from me saying
" Don't write your dreams on sand
Write them on your heart "
I woke from my short trance
When the crimson moon was awake above
And the night owl hooting echoed through the woods
Left the woods without performing my ritual
Because i heard a vision backwards
" Don't write your dreams on sand
Write them on your heart."
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