Saturday, 9 April 2011

My Mad Woman


Gathering in silence my armour of anger
I prepare to war
My mad woman,
Locked up in the mind-attic now.
Armies of another time, place, gather
Ranging the fringes of childhood, innocence
Of a faraway self who is not I
But grew up to be me.

Now, far beyond reproach is she,
I merely question
The accidents or dreams
That led her to be.


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