We Spake
The first star splays its sterling fingers.
There is a tempest in the house,
one already down, wrestling
demons in fevered dreams.
I forget where I put my heart.
How to sleep, beatless?
Both souls are on the lam
yard-sale lullabies
over-gummed playthings
I could check the toy-chest,
huge lip hoarding old times,
musty dolls' toes curled comfortably
most likely, for eternity.
Copyright 2008 Julianza Shavin
Régis
Be always safe,
Karen
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
and we slipped into the toychest and turned the key.
Now where did that come from? Perhaps from some bottle.
Love your laugh...and the magic of your writing. -gene.
Mary