Please be kind to me, for I wilt

fastly and sure,

for I haven’t a devilry,

to lean upon, as a shoulder.

 

If you are a captor,

leave me wading into waves.

Leave me to fade,

thin paper with words into pond green.

 

Trust nothing that I say,

unless I tell you to,

unless my hair is grown long,

unless you loved me once.

 

I have no kingdom,

nomadic and acrostic,

a papyrus best left;

I have no god, save skies.

 

Please, you can not wait for me.

You can not sway

as grass in the breeze;

you are dying.

 

Be kind to me. Rose’s blood I shiver,

wracked by the sun.

Rocked by the tidal,

I haven’t heart to give. Be undone.

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A. Marie Kaluza blogs at The Larkspur Horne