The Woman

The man who sings the songs to her

Has gone to bed

‘Until tomorrow’

He says


The woman, who can only listen

Is left alone

She takes a tablet

And rests


The self-obsessed opportunist


But it’s clearly all

About them


The woman has her troubles and


But can only do

So much


Whilst last year’s almost-lover

Has new love

He pays no mind

To her


The woman, who still cares for him

Forgives him

She could never be

Good enough


The girl who’s on a journey

Has a life

Both beautiful

And strange


The woman, who goes nowhere now

Envies her

The freedom she has

To change


The writer of the beautiful tales

Is unwell

It makes him angry

Darkest rage


The woman lives with illness too

And wishes

She could free him

From his pain


And the man who is best avoided

Is muted

But still messages



The woman  fears him now


That he’ll come back

Once more


The sweetest man is over there

She likes him

But only likes

That’s all


The woman, who gets lonely

Is happy

That he’s around



The poets and photographers

Musicians and muses

Artists and scribes

Fill her day


The woman, who feels everything

Cares for them all

In her own

Hopeless way




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