Chipped China (a poem)

[Lyric]

I wrote this a little bit ago...still revising, of course, but I thought I'd share because I know that most of the people here know how this feels.

Chipped China
by Brandy H.

It’s just a word, or so I’ve heard.

Two beats worth a thousand hours of trudging
weary up and down sidewalks, my hair and your hair
stinging our brows, ready to fight the lions
on the corner. A word, like a step that you miss
when you aren’t expecting it, a stumble
and a trip until you fall back
onto the path you were trying
to leave.

We shouldn’t expect the word.
It means nothing, or so I’ve heard.
But if it means nothing, why
can we not spin it into a satin ribbon
like the one our mothers wore, and wrap
it tight around you and around me
until the ends are lost in our arms,
and we know that this is the heirloom
we’ve been waiting to inherit?

Is there truly a god who guards
those sacred syllables, a judge ready to revoke
the rainbow and drown the world
if we used the word?
If it means nothing, why are we served
on chipped china (if at all)
at a separate table
in another room?

Is there nothing more than almost
the same, almost as good, almost
real
for us,
forever?

[Fearless]

1. Wow.

:applause:

[Mad_Dem_X]

2. Absolutely brilliant.

That brought tears to my eyes. Well done.