::: Playground :::

how's your mother now, sister? did she
call you home?
I saw you in quarantine
catch me a garden
through your keyhole scared of colour
it's an open door you're kept inside, hurry I'm coming for you

( cut for length )

::: Crimson Saints :::

the crimson saints are singing
painting sins upon their knees
confessing your name to all
you made me your dirty queen

but your testimony left me dry
no iron cross can protect me now
your faerie bread gone to dust
rouge my lips with your wine

unsought thirst for redemption
begged baptism to wash you off
your faith lay between the sheets
while I was hanging from crosses

::: Dying Revolution :::

apparantly our rebelling failed
halt this weekend non-conformist
your crumpled heart was brought low
but this plague of words doesn't end
a glass jar filled with paper scars

explanations forgotten in telling
hold the sign higher from your face
our dying revolution gives birth
ideas flaking off my frozen melody
freedom songs in tattered blue skirts

poetry

April is National Poetry Month. To celebrate, I am posting one of my poems every day. You can play along too! Or, if you don't write, post a poem that you love. I would love to see my friendslist filled with poetry all through April.


Today's poem is one of my newer works. It was written for someone I've become very close to only recently. She's been encouraging my recent flood of words, and having one of her own as well. (Yes, she knows this is hers.)


( Sister King )