by Sparks In Shadow
A brood of observers collect along my life’s shores.
What will they see?
Sense of self? Ripple of heartache? Hand outstretched with
fingers curled to suggest that I want – not need?
This untoward lie, told when truth should be tendered,
doesn’t protect, yet protection is the boundary where I make my search,
seeking my soul in the yards of others,
when the lilt of my own voice isn’t enough
to keep my course.
I’ve ignored evocative words with simmering truths,
while searching in those yards.
But you can have my heart
if you look into my eyes, and promise to see
what I shouldn’t
Julia’s prompt was these words: Ripple, Brood, Evocative, Lilt, Untoward.