Thicket

This brambled heart isn’t ready to be
heard; it’s still hiding here in the under

-brush. These painted words aren’t meant
for another’s eyes, disguised as poems

shed like shattered tears. For years she
thought and fought, and wrought what

she could with clenched fist. It’s open now
lighter, somehow; still caught, missed.

 

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10 Responses to Thicket

  1. Helen says:

    Your poem reminded me of how nice it is to age, to mellow … 🙂

  2. “For years she
    thought and fought, and wrought what
    she could with clenched fist.”
    I really hope she could do a lot! Wonderful poem. thanks for sharing, De. You rock (as always) 😀
    Best, M.

  3. I love your “painted words.”
    Off topic: Janet tagged me in blogger tag 🙂 I was “it” and you are one of the lucky ones I tagged in turn. No pressure!
    http://www.thehappyamateur.com/2012/03/blogger-tag.html

  4. Shaista says:

    Beautiful rhythm to your poem – needs to be read aloud to be really savoured! Lovely lovely balance.

  5. Awww… “brambled heart… painted words… disguised as poems shed like… tears. LOVE these! Lovely — as always, De.

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