I stop to listen to the oracle

Who speaks to me of greatness

Of a person trying to enter my life

Walking the line, fighting their way

Through the layers of time

I consider the day I let the good times bleed away

Now my tears are empty.

I have a tendency for the melodramatic

Life never comes in thimble fulls.

It so often rushes at us like a tribe of angry bees.

Having been stung, getting a bad reaction,

I know how it feels to be liminal.

One leg in, the other out, stuck between the space

While the stomach does the hokey cokey…

©Anita Dawes 2021