if only I were as pure snowwy white as my hydrangeas ..
But I don't wish to be..
if it had not been for the taint on my skin ..
the sores that live in color ..
I would not be wise.
Pure was naive and inexperienced
His gift, my curse.
Please explain to me, why does a woman wait?
As soon as it's given
He breezes like autumn spring
any season except summer's wind
She's left burnt like Alabama churches
In the 50s and 60s
But don't fault that brown-eyed baby girl
When did she even have a chance to learn?
Tell me, who could she even learn from?
No one ..
Daddy was gone Mama was deaf
Left blind was Brown eyes and very lost
Who could she learn from?
No one because she was saving herself.
Hoarded the possession he yearned to covet
Only to get her innocence revoked by a wolf in sheep's garments
Like her hydrangeas.
Like her hygrangeas.
She thought he was pure.
A conniving disguise
that led to her demise.
But now she's wise.
Living in voluminous strides of reds and purples
Pure white, she is not.
She needed the pain and prick of each color to help her grow.
Garden of lessons
Tear filled hose that waters every plant
Wisdom tree mountain high roots
Branches of a lion's strength
As the sun
But not as the snow