My Cloaked Lady

By Brittany Bennett


This here is my love,

Or shall I assume. She whispers

From above,

So my heart can resume. The thoughts

In my head

Scream loud and absurd. I lay here

On top my bed

Wished I could be cured. You arrive

With a smile,

A pen and a pad. You coax right on through

My petty denial.

You act as if glad, that I speak

Of her again.

I try to show you, you cross your chest

And mumble amen.

She is not new, she stands here

Beside me.

You nod your head, and jot down your

note and then flee.

I come out of my bed, and run

To the door,

Look back at my love, and look

Down to the floor.

My sweet morning dove, they will never

Get to grasp

How real you are, as long as you

Wear that mask.

I look at how far, you are down

That hall.

And wish that once soon, this locked

Door will fall.

October 20, 2014 Blueprint Magazine 1 Comment

One Comment

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