20
Sep
stored in: Poetry and tagged:
Will we answer when she knocks?
Will we rise up when she enters?
Will we take her as if she was ours?
She seldom asks twice, her voice sometimes filled with sin and vice.
But the answer she seeks is but a whisper away, all we need do is give the OK.
We believe we are in control, but the reins she’ll never let go.
So, blindly we travel across cobbled stones and gravel,
Dirt roads and far off lands; we are at the mercy of her whims and hands.
Where we’ll arrive, only she knows.
Her lips flushed red with colour, are not only for show…
But we’d best make our mark, or she’ll leave as quickly as she came.
And there we will stand, not even knowing her name.
