The Before

Change had not come yet.
The fingers of time still set
Our hours in the quiver
I begged You to deliver
Us all
From the slavery I saw
To prodigal life
And as a wife
I begged my husband
To let us stand
And he acquiesced to me
For a change of scenery
And pace, perhaps
But the years between lapsed

I forgot who I am

Somewhere along my road
My luggage stowed,
I bowed to inflections
I believed funhouse reflections
In ether and slumber
I became too encumbered
To dance
And I loved to dance
Even by myself in the dark
And some costly, brutal spark

Resuscitated my comatose soul
I finally saw the ghastly toll
Twenty-odd years late.

(Held off-site: Created July 12, 2024)