Cold Comfort

I’m going slightly insane
Oh, to be deaf, dumb, blind & mute!
turning that blind eye, having nothing
more to do with it – all

No shoes on her feet
her hair a mess
the first thing she says is,
“Are you a mean stepmother or a nice stepmother?”
cuddling me, she tells me I’m nice before I can answer, awed
saddened & proud
all at once

I’m so afraid for our little girl
afraid to bear witness; joy, pain, confusion, innocence
I do my best, continuing to be consistent,
loving, nurturing & hiding
my own pain to shelter her

I need time out
not from our littlest princess, never
from that bright spark that lights up my world, my own fear worse for wear
knowing truth; being called a liar
cruelty appears nonchalant & we all know
ignorance breeds ignorance

I rise
above this time & detach
from that confined space lodging
deep in my brain & heart, threatening
to expose my GI Jane

She thrashes inside her prison cell,
the bars of my prison bend
but do not break, I give thanks
to God & Godesses & the Furies,
my Crone; for temperance
my aenima inanimate for the moment

,●

I hear her laugh,
that contagious giggle
putting a smile on my face
all I need is patience; I can wait
Karma has not yet spoken, giving
cold comfort will come at a cost – all
I can do is love

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

Persephone Personified

I am trying to understand this place;
my skin crawls with dissatisfaction.
I pray to an unknown God
while Goddess whisper in my ear,
stoning my heart, burying me in the sands of time
the river Styx shines its mirrored veil
I am sucked beneath ancient waters, blackened
as the night is deep
my soul writhes in despair
I sink
I breathe water while my spirit swears
Hades dark and foreboding bearing gifts like fruit
I recognise him and defend

I am weary
for God has forsaken me
I cry out in anger throwing my fist
I am but a child, small and snivelling
Persephone personified
I am reborn, again and again and again
dying each time
if life has meaning then I am blind
for I see no reason
where are you Demeter?
Mother!
I have no mother
I close my eyes and weep but do not pray

*

my soul surrenders
the Fates weave their ancient threads
I am suckling at her breast, at last
I am dead
I am dead
I am dead

 

© 2007 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved.