Turned to stone
not from looking behind
but by looking ahead
daring to dream
to break from the form poured into
believing that with as little as a mustard seed
she would succeed
until the iron gate clanged shut with finality
wings of stone heavy as her granite heart
slump as she sits with only the ravens as company
in the sad and soulcrushing knowledge
that the meek do not
will never
inherit.
©jayetomas2013
*artwork by kathy fornal*
About chimerapoet
I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again.....
But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts.
And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I.
Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing.
So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
Chimera Poetry 