Cuts shallow,
burns small.
Scars grow like hoarfrost.
What poisoned words pierced
your heart
pulling you beyond my reach?
Torpor reigns
where passion shone.
Blossoms bloomed in May’s sun,
as blood ran over the green.
I’ll not bind you
with cloth or iron.
I’ll not leave you
to slip
beneath the hillside.
Instead
I’ll bend my body
to the strings.
Trace your steps
down shadow’s path.
Hold your hand
to spite your feral,
wicked goblins
that bind and blind
you.
Please
just take my hand.
I will sing you home.
BIO: Amanda Lord received her B.A. in English, decided writing fiction was an unlikely career path, and went on to get her M.S. in library science. After a few years in libraries, she decided that perhaps writing was a better path after all. She lives in a dilapidated Victorian in upstate NY with her husband Joel. Online, she can be found at dulcinbradbury.livejournal.com. Her short story “Red Dust” appeared in the sixth issue of Crossed Genres and will also be featured in their first anthology.
IMAGE: Orpheus and Euridice, Frederic Leighton, 1864