Literary Vegan

Let's go for a drink, you said Dangling our whole relationship  In a five word thread above The pub door More than you'd said in days. I always hoped,  Always,  Saw mistletoe when you smiled - White berries for red warnings And every mistake That flowered too late In my mind. Where was I then? The girl who holds the World in her words, Suspended my time waiting for yours -  I wish I'd poured that drink over your head. LJ Ireton  

The raindrops are ticks of their own clock Time drips by when you're watching And the seconds make no sense Which is why Storms can be comforting A lull of irregular beats When you stop Marching. LJ Ireton

There are those who have waited Ugly long years to become a butterfly  Too afraid to lift a wing at first -  But learning their arms now Flare with flags like a herald's trumpet, Cannot help but flash every colour In defiance against plain glass Staining it with the blue-green joy Of becoming,  The red of being,  Sealing the waiting cracks with amber A benevolent balm, A hint. And there are those who don't like it. They do not understand lightness In a heavy world, surrounded by stones. You say, 'neither did I, I carved waves and eyes marking time before my flight'. But you are fanciful, they say. And so you fold your wings, Become a furious line Of amber gold Remembering Every single time you weren't yourself And this time you fly With resistance  And all the more Reason.  LJ Ireton 

Fierce, little heart take courage Let your feelings flow In a stolid place Your tears are a brewing storm A distilling of the truth that is yours Rising to the surface  Listen to it  And water the dry, dry earth. LJ Ireton 

The full moon has come, But clouds float over her face -  Allowing us only flashes of Neon pearl light. When we try to show our true selves, Jealous shadows will crawl. The moon isn't daunted by eclipsing wisps, As dark as they are. How do I find that self-assured gleam Of the moon coming from my own skin? Her immortal energy I lack - How does she not tire of the tendrils Crossing her vision? Maybe what covers her serves her still -   In the art of revealing more Than clear skies ever could. LJ Ireton