The urge to do different is rumbling.
Holding it back takes strength
that i cannot afford.
The dam will burst open
and I will contend with the rapids.
What is there I want to transform?
Am I no longer happy
with what made me happy days before?
Is it you that has changed
my changing?
Feels like madness
the scourging bristles of thistle leaves
dragging across my tongue.
Tasting the bitterness,
fights against the vows.
Your bouquet of roses,
fading, smell of sweetness.
Dried blooms are lovely in potpourri,
burning candles light our way.



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