The emptiness I hold, my curse,
She's rending to fulfill.
By hearse or worse, each slender verse,
Is bending to her will.
Page 26, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
An ewer in Erato's hands,
Pours boiling to my head.
I’m burning while she makes demands,
‘Amuse me now, instead.’
Page 25, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
Is this the same that once besot,
My dear dead Emily?
For once prose came from careful thought,
And now it spills from me.
Page 24, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
I think I’ve been caught by a muse,
Her grip is like a vice.
For aching I am pulled from bed,
To write down her advice.
Page 23, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
I feel so sick, I’m filled with words,
They bubble from below.
I fear what might become of me,
I try to catch the flow.
Page 22, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
An honest poem falls like a knife,
It hurts so good to catch.
So sweetly bliss is paired with strife,
Hence I’m a merry wretch.
Page 21, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
Such hopes, defeats, and desperate wants,
The pages set them free.
I never kept a journal once,
All this time— it’s kept me.
Page 20, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
A day, a death. We lose ourselves,
Forgotten won’t confer.
To stay the grim, this pen compels;
We wrote, therefore we were.
Page 19, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025
A year’s adage, an age, a youth,
I think, therefore I drown.
What thoughts will settle into truth,
If we don’t write them down?
Page 18, of “Merry Meet and Merry Part”
© Aimee Wood 2025