This colored band,
this piece of cloth that never leaves,
has lost it's youthful charm.
The gash it rubbed in my leg
only an ironic reminder.
This colored band,
this piece of cloth I can't take off,
clings to my leg like a shackle,
leaving a trail of blood running to my sock.
An ironic reminder of a rose turned thorn.
i made a new band to replace what was lost
ReplyDeleteorange, blue, gold
strings intertwined with prayers i couldn't make myself say out loud
this band moves forward with my footsteps, and
upward with my thoughts of you
if i could i'd band these states together, i swear i would
oh, but i'm lost
do i weave north or south now?
band, band, you need a compass
Orange, blue, gold
ReplyDeletewhere are those days of old?
I was troubled by your silence
but all that has passed.
The wound on my ankle has healed and
the irony I spoke of has lapsed.
Breath easy Bee
for hope is an eternal fire.