Coming of Oracle

It seems the parts of you I once caressed with my voice have been bandaged.
There are no need for my silk hands to lay grace on your stinging skin.
Time has filled the hollow.

And you are wrapped in towels, inked with anecdotes for healing. 

Your memory soaked, in an antidote to self-medicate.

The wind whispers the notion that tomorrow is for you- 

With or without me.

As I still dwell in what could be.
Once again you are my inspiration.
Yet.

I am nothing like you.
I'm still longing for you to string me up, 

and play sweet tunes that I can hum to.

I still want you to call my name and bless me with your innocent findings. 

So I can use bits and pieces of your earth to patch me, to bind me back together. 

Tomorrow.
I'm going to the forest.
To collect what I can find from Gods hands.
And there I'll dress myself, and use the river as a repairing spell.
I'll soak my clothes and breathe in the mist that'll dare me to do away with you.

And I'll no longer need your voice for safe keep.
I'll no longer need your hands for handy work.
I'll trade these knots and bolts for flesh and bone.

I'll wake up with the sun.
To know that I hold myself up.

Keep your goodwill, intentions and prayers my love.
From you. I want none.
Every song, phrase and speech I beckon.
Reveals your work with me is done.

- Hermenia Powers 

Something sweet for you. Thanks all who read. 

x