Love Lies Bleeding...
The emerald ring is missing
passed from hand to hand
generations of sisterhood spent unwillingly
with only a nod to feined kindness.
Grandmother's ring--
she probably knows where it's at--
but only the thief now claims it.
A sister with a grudge
and a few axes to grind
against the parted sisterhood.
No kind words like honey
dripping from puckered lips
that smack and flap like jarring threads
against wounded hearts.
There is no real love lost
as love lies bleeding at the bottom of the stairs.
I am too tired to climb up them
seeking an atonement that will not be there.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
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