Cynthia Haynes. To the Wordhouse.

31 Aug

To the Wordhouse

Those stones in your pockets…
Were they words that refused
To keep you afloat?
That you picked carefully enough,
but not care-fully?
River stones worn as smooth as
Time—rooms—gardens—sorrow.
A life, a word of stone torment;
The heaviest of stories could not
Save you from that river.
Troubled as you strode, water-sad,
You drifted over to the other side of
Words—breezes—pebbles—ruins.
If only you had picked some pebbles
Instead.
Just a few, small words to line your
Pockets…
You could have lightened, too,
The other lighthouse—you.

woolfprint

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