By Ella Penn
A single second a fragment of doubt,
when the words we are speaking carry no clout.
Maybe a moment, maybe three years,
all with the sadness of memories, forever fears.
Caught up in a cloud of injustice and deceit.
With only a halo of bitter sweet defeat.
If it was easy I’d do it today,
but with buts and what ifs we get carried away.
Pain in one hand, cold in the other.
Weren’t we all once just sister and brother?