The end of the sentence

 book-art-3
with its deep darkness
The Fall was never healed.
Can I resist the call of the killers?
Will they kill me with kindness or with hatred?
I try to hide but no place feels safe anymore
I negate my writing and hide my pens.
Pain degrades me.
Writing deleted returns in imagination
I can do little but I try
Black gravity is the monster in my soul…
Sway not the tree
On whose strong branch the leopard drapes himself
But let the moon speak in silver tongue
as the leaves rustle
I am invisible
except as a home for ants
Who steals my words.
I am no more than a punctuation mark or a short title
I am near the end of my sentence.
I’ll be hanged by some inverted commas
From the oak tree.. burning in the sun’s borrowed fires
I can’t see your face now.
Just shapes in grey fog
Like the doctor without feeling for my child.
A child,that was..
that would have been…
that has gone.
I am uncertain
outside the circle,
outside the circle.
the circle
the circle
of your arms
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About Katherine

I like poetry and history, literature and music.
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