A MUSING

 

To all we’ve done
And are yet to do;
For changing grey
To skies of blue,
From curtained lull,
To rooms in bloom;
The love flushing my cheeks
And breathing life anew:

Thank you.

The stretch in the morning no longer need stitches
And instead, lingers into the night
Dancing with strangers
Staying to glint in glances
And gleam. The happiest light.

I write to you
In the way I’ve become accustomed to
Through years of practice:
Cowardice, irrationality…
Perhaps practicality?
People are busy and I am not.

Words run away from me
Whilst romanticism ravishes the reader
Should a “writer” flick wrist,
(These maestros can’t help but make marvel).

Me?
Lingering too long upon cliche has become my forte.

Instead,
I’ll scribble loudly.
I’ll sketch a scream and wail to the waters
Whilst I silently sit, sipping, sofa bound…

To all we’ve done,
What we’ve left to do-
I owe all to you,
My all-too-knowing muse.

 

 

Megan Hopkin
Illustration: Claire Palmer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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