They hide.
They hide.
“What are you afraid of?
You never had the guts to spill yours, your silenced pain behind once closed doors.
Now opened, w/e see children, once children, never more.
Now w/e know what they bore
And how you wiped your hands on wool garments w/e now tore!”
And the gates press upon us:
they feel closer, now, than you.
Seizing all the breath in me.
I feel their millstones in my chest.
And the gates press upon me too much
For the gates seek to crush your beauty by the softest touch.
Oh, what w/e undermine.
supported by 9 fans who also own “In Its Wings, A Wind Has Wrapped Them”
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