The shudder/shake

‘twas not the spark of passion
nor the advent of desire
but the shudder/shake of terror
brought up from her recalls.

It’s not to say she didn’t know
love hovered near to still her fear
but so much more she needed then
to make of life a good event.

It didn’t come. She called again,
again, again, again,
until still wrapped up in terror

she stepped into the world of Gods
to re-affirm true love’s avowals.

And from that sojourn she awoke
not still or settled, calm, peaceful,
but lost, bemused, abandoned,
in a world of foreigners.

She lives today, so they say,
within the shadows of the day
but you will look and never find

that woman who was known to call
again, again, again!

Shawls and blankets

She who opens doors to more
feels the breeze of who she is
but then the cold of the “before”
wraps around her daily life.

She ponders so this memory chill
like strangers in her new abode
and in her manner so polite
offers them an overnight.

‘tis not to say they do not know
to leave before she suffers more
and yet it’s like they’re glued to beds
made before awakening.

She cleans around their imprints felt
and discards the useless junk of hurt
but the crown of how she knows to be
never placed upon her head.

But time is such that ponders not
the speed with which it leaves behind
the glorious and magnificent,
the amazing and fantastic,
and the really quite remarkable
woman that she is.

And of that woman, all women,
who open doors to more
they sit with shawls and blankets
until time comes round again!