The Stolen Heart
- Grace Davies - poetry
- Aug 12, 2020
- 1 min read
Updated: Sep 29, 2020
The written version is underneath the read out loud video.
The Woman in Black,
it suits me I think,
and now I’ll be in black always.
He’s the foam on the waves,
the pearl in the oyster,
the bowels of a shark.
Torn to pieces by Davy Jones
calcified, coralised, petrified.
No that’s me,
I am petrified.
People think that I am stone,
granite, ice.
I am not, I am a beetle.
Under my exoskeleton, I am pulp.
Pulped like a grapefruit,
sour like a lemon,
wrinkled like a raisin.
I thought we’d have forever,
I was wrong.
All I have are the reminders,
inanimate and living,
mirrors of us combined,
they look to me to be their all now.
How can I be their world
when I am diminished
to the size of a Pumpkin seed?
Will I grow again?
Or am I merely a sarcophagus,
scraped out inside?
Will I bring the balm
or the sweet sticky honey?
Bee, I’ll be a Bee.
Not a queen. A worker Bee.
I’ll just keep
busy, busy, busy.
Dashing away with the smoothing iron
she stole my heart away.
That’s the version I wanted.
But he stole mine,
and it will never return.
This poem will feature in my soon to be released poetry book - Ghost Words
My debut poetry book - Shadows of the Invisible - A Journey Into Identity, is currently available on amazon - free on Kindle Unlimited - also available in paperback - click on the link below for this evocative poetry collection.
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