The words have their own will to where to fall.
I close my mouth and a sound prods against the shut roof.
The same sentence mulls around the tongue.
The mind vibrates on the " It is done" It is done" “It is gone”
There’s a deep water of a girl with green eyes.
Swim with her in the pool of where all is equal, no sums subtracted or added.
It’s the silence that warps the thinking, collecting goblins and rednecks persuading that behind the still the nothing is greedily eating what may be left of the word platter.
The crook of my neck is stiff from holding my head above the bridge of disappointment.
The words have a will and dictate feelings to pinch the underbelly of the soul.
I bruise easily.
I heal quickly.
I will wash that word platter in my blood.
“It is complete”
© K S Hardy 2012
The times when we cannot say but our feelings slowly make the words strangle our heart.
The times when we hope for something and decide to let hope free us of what we hoped for…..