'Repay evil to blessing, because to this you were called.'
Peter 3:9
Doctors, priests and angels, too
all carry the names of men.
Is my only weapon my meekness? Please.
There must be other ways.
When the clock hands creep to twelve
I pack my herbs and scrolls and go.
To heal the wrongly dosed
from doctors 'cures' that conjure madness
A tincture, spell or words of light
are sometimes all it takes to mend
the folk of these forgotten towns
I'm standing on the burning bridge
between our God and hollow wombed fields
The throne is where I'd love to march—
'Henry the Great, must you starve us, so
while venison and bones of boars
litter your plates in excess?'
One man can make them suffer in vain,
one man can take the pain away.
so a boy's rough disguise
hides my curves and my name
a midnight breeze kiss
makes me much less afraid.
'Travel, soldier, upon your soul's path'
Maman whispered to me as she died.
For better or worse,
in sickness and health,
till death do I and my soldier's heart part.
YOU ARE READING
Lives Collide
PoetryDo I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes). - 'Song of Myself,' Walt Whitman It's hard to know sometimes who you're meant to be. And that's kind of okay. One day I feel like a witch, another like...
