poem : sappho , hear me

mother, i cannot weave my writer’s song

my loom lies dead and the day is done before the sun has risen, my work finished

before it has begun.

 

mother, i cannot lift my head to rest in the bowl of your palms. leave me – i am in love

and by every god i swear that i shall wither;

rosy flesh unfurling

from lily bones,melancholy-soft, sweetly singing

of madness.

 

– sappho ; hear me | t.b / @raggedhearts

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s