Posted: July 30, 2016 in Euphoria
Tags: ,

She grips with broken lips

In the full glare of blackened eyes

Clumsy gait of sheltered pain

Celebrated as amazing grace

She is Oya deep beneath


For the sake of little ones bears

Furtive glances of kinsmen

Whispered songs of hateful friends

Scuttlebut sold cheaply in the market square
Down the connubial vale he shepherds her

Where villainous whips

Curl like mascara starched lashes

Foundation deep in age-long tales

Of heroines like thralls enrobed    

Honoring streams that flow in the dark

Tears drunk in a goblet of gavage 

For a prize precious as dust

Oya took it all in stride
Not anymore!

She grips, today, with the shield of her mind

Deep as the ditch

Waiting for that goon who  dare.


  1. Sebastine says:



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