Nomad Writer

Won’t you 
Lift your head, dear one?  
Gravity hangs  
Your porcelain neck 
In chains 
Dooming your dreams 
To be stomped out 
Crushed petals   
On the gunmetal pavement 
 
When did it all go wrong 
That you flinch  
At even the gentlest sound 
And recoil from a helping hand; 
Lacquered eyes glaring warily 
Through the thicket  
Of your lashes 
 
Rainbows have come and gone 
In the spaces  
Of every cosmic breath 
Vestiges left behind 
In the ubiquity of stars 
For your gaze 
To acknowledge its promise 
That your anguish 
Will soon be a forgotten whisper 
On the last winds of winter 
 
So won’t you 
Lift your head, dear one?  
For hope does not dwell 
Beneath your feet.