Your life was one of exodus,
Fleeing and moving away from the flaws of others and yourself
I know you travelled alone through many deserts
Deserted.
And what was your outlet your lifeline
Your children became your verdict
Your punishment. 
Instead of a pillar of society - be but wife of one, lover of a lot
And forever have a hardened attachment to the past.

Your mind was once a bright sea,
But now is full of froth and turbulence -
Where I, in time gone by - was one of the only boats
To traverse its’ increasingly dangerous expanses:
Columbus.

Your heart a lost city of pure gold
Promising treasures that might be endless - Unspoken,
but waiting in the forest of your trauma, the most precious thing was turned
Savage.

You were a flightless bird,
And I could not reach you even if I had two stones, 
And I could be two toned, I was never too stoned - 
To realise you were too prone to beat around bushes made of plastic...

I leaves. Became some kind of wolf then -
Beating around the wrong bushes, barking up the wrong trees
Going the wrong way down extra miles - howling to a cold unresponsive 
moon.

Round and white of face are you - eclipsed by your pain and suffering,
I am too versed in your dark side asking
When will the grey clouds of yesterday peel back to reveal
Sunshine?

Are you saving it for a rainy day?
Come what may - now the teacup can maybe forecast brighter weather
Will you ever put those stormy ideals aside? 
Will you ever believe in the green of your own lawn? or
See the bright before the coming revelation of dawn?
NO.

So, my once open heart is now closed because I saw red,
When I learned you smile and take delight
Why should your badly forged art of me be splashed across the open sky?
Now I'm mourning.
My demeanour tried to show you,
But you tend to see this bright anger as a star to follow
But that does not Herald positive reaction, that would not be wise, 
Be like a studious shepherd.
Heed warning!

For this is myrrhly a symbol of what is to come,
Not crucifixion - but my own resurrection
After weathering your storm,

I understand the way your wind blows
And there is no dove to fly on the crest of a rainbow
You send no covenant.
You'll never agree. So

You have no part in my play
Because you cannot follow simple direction.
You make an ass of yourself
Somehow each new ado you hit Bottom
Never quite able to rise –

It could be the final hour, final day or final year.
Delt to you from your own hand,
a pit of your own making.
and I will not be made into Stanley –

There are some holes that are not meant to be got out of
Instead, Stan against you - I will Marvel
Taking flight on the providence of luck I fashion
From my words alone.

Sentences constructed carefully like papier mache
Glue I have thickened with knowledge,
Paper that I fortified by experience
Folded and soaked across the years

Without malice or malintent - just put together, then
Added together like building blocks made with the highest levels of self-love
Scabbing over the cracks, dips and spaces left by your persecution.
Now my sky can become cloudless,

An endless ceiling the only limit to what I can endure, 
For there will not be the obstacle of the storm of you 
Filling my mind with a frenzied tornado of contradiction.
t is only now that I can grow and have that moment

Breathe – aaah!
And laugh - ha!
And bathe in my own reality
Eureka!
 copyright Adeola Lamb and The Poet's Voice ltd circa 10/05/26