Ladies,

Today, if they’re not gracious for that simple feather kiss in the middle of the forehead.
They’ll never be appreciative for anything else you have to offer...

He left
A mark the color of red wine
Zinfandel
Placed high on cheek bone
Directly under her left eye
Such tears only bruising
It further

I didn't mean to
He simply stated

She left
A note the color of resentment
Charcoal
Placed atop bedroom dresser
Directly over her exiled contents
Such emptiness only reinforcing
It further

Once was more than enough
She simply stated

Even in the darkest ,of space , your Light still shine.
Even in times, of your deepest pain your Light still shine.
Even in your, weakest state here your Light still shine.
Even in your , Brokeniness here your Light still shine.
Even in the your struggles here your Light still shine.
Even in the midst, of your anger , and loss your Light still shine.
For you are Gods Poets and Poetress speaking Gods Truth.
In the world where so many people need to see your Light.
To see that Jesus , Loves them as well and that he is the Word.

Resting the mind is not easy
it dances like a sparrow
and speaks like a babbler
seeking the minutest grain
from the jungle of weeds
tweeting what it has to say
from one perch to the other
in all weather.

Then the aching wings falling slow
by the cold north wind
find no worth in the haste
seek a rest
perching upon some heart.

When unbroken silence is all it has
the mind rests easy in peace.

I've travelled,
Unravelled,
I've healed,
Been revealed,
Ive waited,
Breath bated,
But you?,


I've cried,
Been denied,
I've sobbed,
And been robbed,
I've been clean,
Been obscene,
But you?,

You have tamed me,
Never maimed me,
You have loved me,
Soared above me,
Freed my sorrow,
Cupids arrow,
Yes, you,

(C)eileenmcgreevy@ymail.com  17/01/2020

she walks prospect avenue in the rain.
dead eyes, sore feet
the flowers have wilted into
the shadows of acceptance.

she finds the corner
and the last light lit,
wants a match for her cigarette.

a ****** that has found her god.
a needle and a bed of thorns.


the beep from a car's horn,
so a customer waits,
swings open a rusty gate.

and when that door

slams

shut

the prisoner of light asks,

"where have all the flowers gone?