Lighting in Her Garden

Words that grow like flowers

Together they cut like thorns

Strung together, a garland of poison ivy

They cut and they burn

Lost upon him, that silly boy

Whose heart was too small to hold

The garden of my soul.

His hand of anger and furrowed brow

Set fire and flames upon it all

But he was always too dumb to see

That my spirit was stronger than he

And his weak flame.

Taking back my freedom – I will never be the same.

NAOMI COHEN