Hearts like hands, engulf me
in your reckless endeavor.
Come greet meet at the foot
of a martyrs throne. Here I am
again. Silly and thrown to pieces.
Where do I start this shrill
inhumane voice that echos
at the most unreasonable moments?
Things from the past like my
fathers scolding voice. My
mothers apathy. This is where
things that can do the most
damage come from. It is not
my fault but I have to move
on and love myself.
Copyright 01-12-2009 ©® Sarah Sisson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem