My body has been used;
tossed to the ground
to wipe away indiscretions,
and the grinding filth
of lying whores.
My heart has been starved;
cupped in sweaty palms
to ease burdens,
and the murky hypocrisy
of righteous men.
My spirit has been wrung;
pulled inside of fists
to stretch truths,
and the sour hesitation
of bitter regret.
My soul has been worn;
placed upon rails
to catch tears,
and the heavy wetness
of desperate sins.
© Nicole Lyons 2017
Strange connections happen
Into my head, my ear
There pops this fragment
Of Leonard Cohen
“But I’m stubborn as those garbage bags
That Time cannot decay
I’m junk but I’m still holding up
This little wild bouquet”
Even in that battered tale
Wild flowers bloom
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Gorgeous. Thank you for sharing that
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
Nicole may not be new, but the poem is.
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Reblogged this on Secret First Draft: A Site of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective and commented:
Nicole Lyons/The Lithium Chronicles
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Thank you so much
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Oddly beautiful, sad, haunting and triumphant all at the same time. I think that for those of us who have crawled through fire there is tremendous comfort in seeing the beauty of others who have walked that path of broken glass surrounded by flame and still remember who they are. Or I could just be babbling.
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Thank you, C. A beautiful thought, not a babble at all. ❤
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