Throes

In the sleepless throes of my torment
Love came to the door of my cell
And ate the buds of the flowerbush
That in springtime would bloom there
So I shooed her away

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10 thoughts on “Throes

    1. Thank you Susan. I’m really torn about it. How could Love do such a thing? Maybe she was hungry, maybe she’s telling me that what I think is important is just fodder, or maybe —love that, cutback, grows again. Pruning isn’t easy…

      Sent from my iPad

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  1. I tread it as one clinging to torment and pushing away the love that might have opened the door to freedom. (Why lament the flowers unless one is expecting to stay miserably in the cell?)

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  2. Once scorned we sometimes close ourselves off to possibilities; but opening that door to renewed vulnerability takes time. Plaintive write. Well chosen words.

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