In Creation of a Storyboard (by one with little skill)

As you two drift off-to sleep,
Pray a dream arrives as they
                             oft  might.
Penciled-in draws of a woman
            a-go, with a husband who
            fought long in a war.
Sketches a child might slate –
though holder of pencil is of’n older make.
The holder, a she, can plead no guilt,
She wasn’t made to draw, the threads knotted fate.
So dream of an older life as the new day begins,
to prepare the mind for an early start
to meet and dis’uss the two drawings of the woman
ago, who fought with a husband who fought in a war.
She writes such words to a lady a-far, whose hardened
husband stops the follow-through of words.
She tried her best, the she who makes.
But her drawings might be better off made
with a child’s slate.
No quality just –
no dubious jest –
She simply just can’t draw great.


The Tale of the Girl with No Name: Part Two

Far away, not so long ago,
Lived a Girl with No Name,
who went her entire life thinking she knew
when to turn her head, ears open wide.

Two sun circulations ago she met a boy with
a Lovely Name, the most lovely of names that could
grace her uneven lips. He taught her that
what she knew was no longer true:
She had no Name, She never Did. She never Would.
The closest thing she’d be was a useless ‘you’.

A You she Was – that must be the truth.

What she felt versus what was true meant
that her heart grew apart.
Wandering far from the Boy with the Lovely name,
a man she met with an Ugly Name.

And all in one night, she was given
her old-name-that-never-was.

But when she heard the old familiar ring
echo from the even mouth, she no longer recognised
the sounds. She didn’t know what they meant.
When she heard her Name, She didn’t like it one

She declined the new man,
Though his intentions were true.

She ran back to the one who erased
the name, and would only know the arms
of all the later men who would.

A You she Was – that was the truth.

That’s where her worth was.