I keep beginning a battle cry
About rhinoceros stampeding
An Empire weak and bleeding
Lazarus wounds that will die
Again from red-eyed indignation
Spun a royal mantle of thin air
Bravado breath and false despair
For a withered fragile nation’s
Proud and naked Emperor
Tearing clothes off human skin
Holding hubris close as sin
Spewing bile from rotten core.
I keep beginning a battle song
Honed by years of womaning
My pen sword can still sing
But my voice is tired and wrong
Again from fatigue creeping in
Spun a web on which to stand
But it’s sticking to my hands
A cocoon I’m trapped within
Edges singed by my own fire
Healing demands time for sorrow
I will flex again tomorrow
Tonight this butterfly is tired.
– November 15, 2016
Prodigal Season 