Willowed Belonging

by Karizma Ahmed

‘Tis my place? Knowest not I, Prithee, where to stay?

Hither, whence merriment comes easy, unburdened from count. Ecstasy running like water, a piety –Nay, ‘tis not I.

Booming laughter ignites a pain sweet and twenty. Much too smiles: a privilege Sith and simmer, clutched in afflicting hermitage, And flatter not with joy more than me bounty.

Or thither, with melancholy gods passionately raining The sky drenching the sand, a sea of my mourning. Thought: the little villain, a pithy of mine lyfe. Nay ‘tis not I either.

For I gorge on un-gaitly howls, Mine hunger never quite absolved. Though, one-half in jaws of death, The other half is still alive.

Bolts and shackles, in whose capture, I. Stone bows targeting resolution: My Achilles heel. Deposited ghosts of my inaction: A sad Cypress, My willowed belonging hath never truly blent.