Poetry For Everyday People
Speak Not Of This
I don't know
what it is
about jasmine
or white flowers
in the night?
maybe it's the memories
of innocence?
that beautiful,
place of long ago
where you smiled
inside and out,
when possibilities
all seemed reachable
in your young young
jasmine mind,
then they said
close your eyes
and took
your hand
to go play,
where darkness
turned hard
what once
was soft,
and breathing
became a struggle
as you wondered
about these game?
in a flash
somehow outgoing
faded into silence,
and articulation
become a secret sculpture
in your newly acquired
incomprehensible pain,
and you wanted it to snow,
to storm, you wanted locks
on your doors, windows,
as you felt it
striped from you
and you no longer
wanted to play games,
and you began
to hide
as best as
an eight year old
could hide.
what it is
about jasmine
or white flowers
in the night?
maybe it's the memories
of innocence?
that beautiful,
place of long ago
where you smiled
inside and out,
when possibilities
all seemed reachable
in your young young
jasmine mind,
then they said
close your eyes
and took
your hand
to go play,
where darkness
turned hard
what once
was soft,
and breathing
became a struggle
as you wondered
about these game?
in a flash
somehow outgoing
faded into silence,
and articulation
become a secret sculpture
in your newly acquired
incomprehensible pain,
and you wanted it to snow,
to storm, you wanted locks
on your doors, windows,
as you felt it
striped from you
and you no longer
wanted to play games,
and you began
to hide
as best as
an eight year old
could hide.
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Speak Not Of This
Speak Not Of This
