The hag and the haggard
Was once a piece of meat
A prize cut – the tenderloin
– Tender, succulent and flavorsome –
When expectations reigned over
Her stubborn heart and the man in front
Was always a little too short
A little fat, a little non-intellectual
And now she stands alone
Soaked in die-hard loneliness
Yet appreciative of her solitude
Wilting inside her flower-petal dress
Knowing that the autumn dream
Is only a fragment of the summer fantasy
When her mind is an old shoe box
With scraps of memories and ‘what-if’s
But the heart is still wide-open
And still as strange and wild
As a magician’s hat


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s