To be or not to be
In trying so hard not to be
That which I wish to avoid,
All I have known and felt as
Hurtful
Painful
Isolating
Challenging
Unloving
Unpopular
I can deflect.
Light show
The interval is over.
Time is called.
Now!
How long have I hoped to hear those words?
Aeons, and lifetimes, and incarnations, and contracts
All building so beautifully, so purposefully up to
This moment,
Instantly.
Every tiny adjustment signalling a momentous
Move that could not be known or understood
Before
Call of Sophia

I hear it often before I feel it – a low unrelenting hum
That arrests and strains me towards it, yearning to catch
The rhythm and pulse in my heart and womb.
My breath becomes the refrain of Her call.
Eternal flame
Someone has smoored the fire, apart from my tending.
A pale and creeping chill has shawled my shoulders,
Infringing my dulled heart and labouring belly.
I yearn for the leaping flame, the heat-blushed cheek,
And the charged crackle of life-affirming burn.
I want anything, nothing, anything but to cradle this cold.
My instinct to distraction.
If not you
Not me, I say.
He is far more intelligent, so much stronger,
More confident, outspoken, just so much
Well, more.
And things stay the same.
It should be her, I say.
She finds it all so easy and effortless,
She looks the part, persuasive and convincing
With her poise and style.
She is just so
Well, perfect.








