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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