Empty Books

A story untold, a mystery unsaid;
words that were spoken lie dormant in bed.
A bed we won’t find and a bed we can’t touch:
the women; the voices; the making of us.

Lost in the cruel, ruthless blur of the clock;
for eternity silenced; from infinity blocked.
And people still ask “You’re a feminist? Why?”
Because I’ll never let half of our history die.

Advertisements

1 Comment

·

Leave a Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s