Kitten
Beneath her rowing
and the *********** of my death,
springs an inspiration to
rescue that dark-haired child.
Within her smile lies
razor-sharp cobwebs of misery
and a heart full of impatient words.
Proud words that fornicated
with despair and expelled
only truth.
I want to be your saviour
and call you my kitten.
I'd give you red ribbons
and stationery where
we could interpret the crimes
of every institution.
Oh Anne!
Oh lost, tortured soul--
my hourglass tears
could never reach
your hand.
Copyright © Stephanie Cawthon | Year Posted 2007
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