Little Clusters of emotional bombs

unmanageable thinking

taking up time, feeding a fractionated mind

madness in clinging to the old parts of people pleasing

 

Remembering that little girl who piped up words to the adults, please take notice

creating an intense separation inside

crushing the ability to suffering shadows

dressing inner purity hiding down in an attic somewhere

with coping behaviours taking a distinct turn

wishing to be ever so good,  pretty, held

only it is on pause

 

A magpie takes little things from there and here,

storing

imagining

being held in a sort of social engineering

seaward bound into an esoteric ocean

which becomes real meaning

 

Once the voice to wish our selves well,

breaks through the deep old well

as the death of a child becomes a fantasy teenager

rhythmically  life takes over

Legs opened, heart warm plenty for all, just so long as that smile keeps glowing

carrying on in a same sort of breath

 

Later, in the muddling years, does the movement rudder break forcing

the clattering wooden vessel to repair

her sails come down to be repaired and cleaned

the work can truly begin

 

Even from that acting up one bows down to growing up,

ready to let go seeds a scattering

wide nets full  of hope,

wishing mantras everywhere,

blown with the wind in her neatly mended souls

o everything, anyone who will listen

feel their natural part in this correlation

 

Should see upon their shore, a little girl crying to herself,

Hold out your hand, reach deep into  your heart

united by our duty to hold each other;

Be warned to listen inwardly to a  voice that is

potentially godlike

innocent,

takes up hold of the small thing,

a child is left no longer wondering alone, broken hearted

all can reach out holding her hand

as she walks feeling familiar ground

 

She listens

noticing a crowd

of elders, willing her to come

She will sleep well tonight

All will be done

 

Mia Manners Feb 2017