Frantic calls from behind a stolen grave
Jane Eyre
I will claim that my pulling into the mist of your spaceless, mystic earth
Is carried by a terrible cry
And pulls me, inching toward the moonscape
Of a sudden death of an old painful memory,
A gasping of star, it’s energy churning, a whirling dervish
A Machine that creates and chokes out gold,
You master my pulling,
You calm it to the gentle heart’s wave,
You are more than enough,
For yourself, you are more than a dream or a poetic line,
A masterful voice you carry,
A adept and capable Goddess of ink and quill,
I stole an empty grave and hide behind it,
Tapping out a secret language
You understood,
My frantic call we dappled along the cooling midnight sun,
And earth greenery that captured our pool like a lady in the water,
You lovely creature of the moon and swamp, the stars and sea foam,
My darling Jane,
Never doubt your true gift.
About the Creator
Melissa Ingoldsby
I am a published author on Patheos,
I am Bexley by Resurgence Novels
The Half Paper Moon on Golden Storyline Books for Kindle.
My novella The Job and Atonement will be published this year by JMS Books
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