My road is a gyspy’s ribbon, no longer is hell at one dark window.
I flee from the birds who scavenge, flying low.
Betrayal, and wind in the pines, are no stranger to me.
The red lipped fledgling of iniquity will spiral –
on her path of delusion, there is no warning.
As she draws her last breath, and time swells like tears,
The Highwayman will come for her, her black antiquated hair, short and bobbed
Hair spray and red lips, she’ll know who she has robbed.
Herself.
The judge presided. Stories were told. One lawyer shouted, they were their mother’s favorites. And that’s what they believed. They were favored, and from that thought spurred, lies, deceit and theft. No one will know the full account. Schemes that sifted between officials, now lay buried beneath layers of time. They are spread thin like the apple jelly in Mama’s twelve layered cake, beautifully decadent and oozing ill health with every bite.
To live your life for a financial inheritance is a curse.
To be raised by a company is a tragedy.
And to be divorced by gluttonous siblings, is a blessing.
There is a hole inside all of us. If that hole is not filled by a relationship with God, you will be chased by the hounds of hell, until the day you die.
I hope you “ladies” have purchased good tennis shoes.
Fish Eye Farm 