Mother knew where her feet fell,
Father wasn't there,
Once she was a child,
Once she had red hair,
How she fell into that world,
Of blood and mist and smoke,
How the hands of unknown stain,
Tightened like a yoke.
The far void unforgiving,
The riddle ever weaving,
The girl lost in starless dark,
The woman never leaving.
Sometimes when she dared wander
A Nomad of the street,
She never felt the light,
Only felt the heat.
A voice could be heard singing,
And she would heed the call,
Fragments, loose ends, frayed and free,
Whisper in the wall.
Always dreamless night time,
The stair ever ascending,
The veils hiding nothing,
Night time never ending.
© Copyright 2017 Bonnie Jackson. All rights reserved.
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