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I sit on a set table

The faces surrounding me look unfamiliar

This grand room with shiny floors

Is a dungeon of silence

Dinner is served, sacredly

We dine together every rest day

The plates out, ceremoniously set

But within this room

There lies no rest

Can anyone break this silence?

Can we unfence our pretences and simply break… the bread?

A voice, like sour wine, graces the table…

“For what we are about to receive, may we be truly grateful.”

A tinkling interrupts the sounding brass

As my elbow accidentally knocks the stainless steel

The moment, cold as steel

But beneath our skin, blood boils

Will we ever break… the bread?

Will we ever recall at all

The reason why we maintain this awkward ritual?

I seem to remember all that is insignificant

These shiny floors

This grand room

Inside this magnificent prison,

We have set camp in the bliss of ignorance

The bread…

We don’t touch it.

We stare at it,

Become stale on its behalf

Why is that?

Our hands haven’t cracked a crust

Haven’t felt the crumbs fall like dust from our finger-tips

Nor wiped the leftovers from the sides of our mouths

Let alone shared a piece

There is bread on the table

Yet we remain unfed

Famished,

And far too many words left unsaid

We are never fully filled

By food which we aren’t hungry for…

The bread is always on offer

But now I’m starting to wonder

How long for?

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What’s In A Woman?

This woman…

Enters the room

Reeking of the stench of yesterday’s sorrows

Her feet are the sea shores of lost captains

Looking for a place to settle on for just a short while

She’s got stories to tell

She’s laughed more than she’s cried

Lived more than she’s died

Her carnal nature is vile

But God still glows through her sun-kissed skin

As if it had it’s own smile

This woman…

Has been swimming through storms

Since she stepped out of troubled waters

She’s seen her heroines bow down to another power

And she wonders,

What’s in a woman?

Weakness is a foreign currency to females

And we’ve been inflated ever since the beginning of time

Our cries are known but unnoticed

Embodying strength and elegance

We fight stereotypes of being labelled as seductive

In a world that seems to value us for being sexually reproductive

But are we also to blame?

When we entertain and respond to being called derogatory names

Can we really complain?

When our standards descend

And our hearts remain open for simply anyone

What’s in a woman?

Women carry a worth more prestigious than fine stones

We are landmarks of Triumph. Integrity. Humility. Beauty.

Never to be merely reduced as something enticing to the male eye

God implanted power and poise

To bring up men out of boys

When men made themselves evanescent

And left women no choice

But to be strong

Women always have to be strong

For often our meekness

Is misconceived as weakness…

Woman of God,

Your imperfections make you interesting

Don’t ever apologise for having those eyes

That tell more than any man has ever seen in print

Never conceal the rivers of wisdom which flow from within

You are a light

A city on a hill

On days when your mind may drift away from this very fact

Just be still…

And know that He is God

And you are made in His image