control

sometimes, hands become colonised,

adept in taking things that are yours.

segregate the seconds quickly

when they ask to purchase time.

maybe borders, maybe water

maybe speech, maybe song.

memories and melodies

that our country is a bird.

minding its business

she rests in her nest,

of scattered twigs and leaves.

holes poked in her abode

with hands holding her morning melody

when power is subdued

and the dawn fulfils

its promises,

casting its shadows

on orphaned offspring

remind yourself

that those hands will wilt loosening and weakening their grip.

Buy Rivers of Broken Waters here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Rivers-Broken-Water-Hannah-Williams/dp/B0CR4D1L3D

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