Writing of Happiness

They tell me to write of happiness… Continue reading

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Stagnant

I never saw her cry,
maybe she didn’t know how.
Always dry-eyed
wide
waiting for the next blow.

I never heard her cry,
she probably didn’t know how.
Her matriarch to be mirrored
strong
unmoved by each blow.

I’d teach her how to cry,
but I have no idea how.
Without crumbling her fortress
fragile
rebuilt with each blow.

If only she’d learn to cry,
let them rain on her now.
Her dry eyes will soften
freed
with the knock of each blow.

© LaYinka Sanni, May 2015