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becoming, bliss, dreams, fearless, grace, knowledge, life, living, love, passion, restless, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, wandering, wisdom, woman
beg my confession
be weighted with lies
would torture the cleaving
of worth –
shared by a stutter
worn round my neck
as proof of another –
a once noble life
strain not to listen
as stories retold
of faraway
somewheres
we might have known well
garnered to pages
the wealth
of it all –
but trust to my silence
a love undefined
. . .
tornadoday 
“Strain not to listen as stories retold” beautiful..love this 🙂
O, Andy……thank you so much! ~ Love, Bobbie
Keep up the awesome writing 🙂
I’ll keep writing (I’m relatively sure I could easier stop breathing).. As for awesome ~ well, if it is so, it is surely due to the magic provided by readers such as yourself……..
Maybe it’s just the way my heart interprets things, but to me, this work is a testament to a forgotten age where there is no war, the power games we play as people are a bad memory and we are in harmony with the universe and nature. Not sure if that’s what you were trying to say, but there it is. Very nice.
🙂 You did that well, Nathan. I’ve been accused of making things too easy, and maybe that’s true. I suppose I feel that we’ve got ourselves turned upside down. The things that should be easy (loving, trusting, tending) aren’t. And the things that should be difficult (killing, pushing a button in Nevada that blows up a village 3,000 miles away, leaving, selling-out)…….well, they’ve become easier. Thank you for recognizing an underlying grief for the part of us still missing. ~ Much love, Bobbie
Thank you for expressing it in such exquisite wording.
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.