A Missed Poem

=Pulpit and the Pews= When she bends She needed you most. You reposed And labelled her- Flagrant eloquent noise. Now perceives wide-awake There and then mews- Nothing to say. Who’s fooling who? On whose folly In this case? Thorny woes Or woes tangle? Oil and canvas … Instrumental madness; Can grab Peter To play Paul. Viva, 'tis okay, She has no objection, No grudge, No hocus-pocus. Only that her burdens are Itchy crosses to bear. A petulant- Entity enticement, That knits her brow. To her, Not needed they are In the free air. We meet, we mix or miss. Tangle that mangled, Phantasmagoria: The phantom in their Framed mirrored lid. Tattering she mends “Not mine and never mine”. Behold her for her stand. “Cynics’ labels are nothing Should you hold within yourself. You’re something And anything You believe you are. While God’s tag is everything”.