November

I’ll take this November

To remember,

Not gunpowder, not parliament, or plots,

But you who lived,

Law of language running.

Treason when you were made silent

Stopped.

The words you could

No longer say were coloured,

Torture on the rack;

Golden words,

Goodbye in red

Splintering dark between

I think of my co-conspirator

Your consonants of love in green,

And want my childhood back

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Author:

Amber R Walker, Hull, Creative Writer, Bookmaker, Lover of art

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