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 Mar 2017 Megan H
Hannah
Sisterhood
 Mar 2017 Megan H
Hannah
It is empowering to see
other women besides me,
unfolding their wings,
holding the key
to unlocking their dreams,
and fulfilling their destiny.
~ rise ~
The old man mumbles in a dying voice
had my sons been alive.

A tear wells in the daughter's eyes.

She pours a spoon of water in his mouth
and wipes his lips and her eyes.

Having lit the pyre of his three sons
he was willing to barter his daughter's life
if that made God grant him another son
and here is the daughter by his bedside
feeding, cleaning and even shaving him
her only prayer to God being to save his life
bartering her entire means.

Outside the thunder cracks the sky
and she spreads a tarpaulin over the bed.

my son laments the father.

Inside her is no cover for rain.
Night of copious moonlight ,
of star shine , of clapping
pines , of Perseus shooting
arrows over Alabama , of a thousand
jet planes approaching Atlanta
Silver highways and moonlit tracks ,
big cities and rural shacks , cattle ponds
and flickering streams , front porches
with checkerboards , maple rockers and
jiggers of good Jim Beam* ....
Copyright March 6 , 2017 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
 Mar 2017 Megan H
Rafael Melendez
I spoke to her yet again.

I've seen all that she can do even though I've only ever seen her once. I've heard promises and spoken words. They slide off her tongue as smoothly as the genuine truth, but it isn't the same as when I first met her.
I've come to terms with no longer knowing who she is, but the fact that I can still read her like the palm of my hand has me asking why I still speak to her.

I'm fully in control of the outcome, but I'm still lost. Engulfed like a moth to a flame, dying slowly knowing that I know her better than I know myself.
I'm a fool.
A girl I know.
these shallow glimpses we share
as days grow long
the scattered thoughts swirl and bury themselves
in crevices of this old house
to be re-awakened perhaps
when we are many years gone
what can we salvage of this eternal bond
while the Sun buries itself behind the Oak
that we've watched grow from the kitchen window
since the days when our hair was thick and dark
and the smell of fresh cut wood was present
what words can I say to bring tears to your eyes
tears that would come from but a glimpse
that shouted my fervent love
we are captives of our timeless, undying, unwavering hearts
yet all that remains of this diminishing soul
would disperse like the final slivers of light
should I lose you
when words turn into worlds
strange things happen

paragraphs bend into globes
continents grow out of sentences
cultures start talking to each other
   clinging to colons and dashes

when words become worlds
these worlds create grammar
and modestly submit to its rules

whereas the real world of worlds
grows ungrammatically
and is more colorful
 Mar 2017 Megan H
Hadrian Veska
In that tower they wait
With limbs of jet black
And cold faces pale white
Reflecting moonlight

In their wonderland
Are they trapped and helpless
Things aren't what they seem
In that poisonous dream

So long has it been
They would never escape
No they sealed their own fate
Clutching at lost hate
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