Poems from Satacey
Broken
I can help it; I can focus on other things
But it seems I’m self possessed on creating love.
It’s a vague light, opaque at best...
Beware
Beware the sister rose.
Having a form of beauty yet denying the power thereof,
she walks. Cautiously. Deserting her bountiful claim...
Finding the essence of a woman.
Collect a bouquet of roses.
Set them in a vase...
on a table with a wall of background .
Wait .
Wait...