I stop to listen to the oracle
Who speaks to me of greatness
Of a person trying to enter my life
Walking the line, fighting their way
Through the layers of time
I consider the day I let the good times bleed away
Now my tears are empty.
I have a tendency for the melodramatic
Life never comes in thimble fulls.
It so often rushes at us like a tribe of angry bees.
Having been stung, getting a bad reaction,
I know how it feels to be liminal.
One leg in, the other out, stuck between the space
While the stomach does the hokey cokey…
©Anita Dawes 2021