Between toll of five and six
he wakes her dawn with scythe
of his restless thoughts and sighs.
She joins him tourniquet in
the morn that keeps them forlorn
longing for the sun to rise.
Who will blink bright first?
So tired, so tired, so tired
She prays today is that day
A dement relief of the pain
time refuses to heal hollow.
Stubborn clock ticks a reverse
making his absence far worse
as curse that killed her heart
in the past crucifies her freedom.
Enough is enough is enough
Bloodletting by pen never ends
or mends damage done by stun
of his cruel torture of silence.
Easy to blame if she breaks the wait
with spit of redemption. He laments
her failure to obey, or comply to his game
and shames her for disturbing his conjecture.
This time, this time, this time
He has power and control to atone
but he watches her die alone while
the chime of thirty five minutes apart
from sense of relief, making final peace,
dispelling myths, rewriting history together
rather than in solitude to determine their
future’s past, clamours her awaited abjuration.
Tis time, tis time, tis time
From “Shadows of Magdalene”
© Katypoetess 2013