locked inside lady wisdom’s vault ii

.~

She makes me her slave

She makes me her drum

She plays me

~

the reality of my captivity

is shattered

by the dream come true

~

i sweep i mop for She

& She

bestows upon me wisdom

~

I smoke it like a pipe in my mouth

& wear it like a top hat on my head

& we waltz

~

finally She let’s me go

i hop on my little burro

return home

~

i see in the mirror

i am no longer a youngster

i am 100 years old

!

.

afghan elder

~

~

text copyright clyde collins 2019

~

About Rawclyde!

I have employed a few pen names throughout the years. Rawclyde with an exclamation mark (!) is the one too sticky to go away...
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