Guard it with your life, pleads the mother of four. But four have already decided to expose themselves to the other, leaving none. One explains that she is in love and he is hers from now until the end. So really there is no point in waiting for the purest day at the hour of their consummation. He is here now and will be there then. Mother responds, “My child, it’s hard to close the doors when the goods are in such high demand but power lies behind your fortress. Power lies beneath your skin. I cannot tell all the mistakes I’ve made or force you to learn from them. But from them I can inform you, protect you”. Eyes are rolled and steps are taken to escape the discerning eyes of the elder. As she walks away we are reminded that only time will tell who remains in the end and at that point we hope there are no regrets.
poetry
Eyes Wide Shut
Fear is in the eye of the beholder.
It creeps up behind like a shadow,
Forcing the instinct to run
Directly beneath the sun, to hide.
However impossible that may seem.
Teeming with adrenaline, we panic-
Trapped by our own fears we panic,
Unable to face and behold her
Controlled by her forever it seems,
As she lurks unawares, in the shadows.
Eyes cover themselves with lids and hide
Causing skin to suppress the urge to run
If the choice is constantly to turn and run
It will always result in an uncontrolled panic
She finds us no matter how well we hide
Tapping aggressively at the beholder
Of her essence, who insists to blend with the shadows.
She fills the heart until it bursts at the seams,
Exploding in the chest cavity while she seems
To laugh, meanwhile alluding us as if to run
Like ghosts lurking in the black of the shadows
Inevitably causing the instant panic
Attack of those that seek to behold her
Attempting to avoid the urge to hide
Like a lion chasing the raw-hide
Starving at the back of the heels, she seems
To be constantly following her beholder
As each foot slams against the pavement to run
Away from her efforts to increase heart panic
The beating ominous cloudless shadow
Darkness emerges to slap from beneath the shadow
When instinctively the face turns to hide,
But elusively what grows is a boiling panic
Overflowing our pot with heat which seems
To place fire at the feet, forcing one to run
All the while avoiding her pleas to behold her.
At night the shadows collect in the seams
Of the room, hiding with craftiness and running
In what appears like a panic towards the I, the beholder.
True Nature
It’s
stifling
in here where
I’ve been forced to
spend the remainder of
the year. Sometimes, if I’ve
been good you’ll let me stay out
past my bedtime, which unfortunately
comes right after you’ve stripped me of the
fruits I bear as gifts to you from those you love.
As a result, I’ve never seen the flowers bloom or the
leaves fall, betrayed by the real trees they come from.
Sometimes I wish I could watch the one I was modeled after
so maybe he can tell me how to better suit your needs. I’m trying
my best to look well-dressed year after year, but I’m getting too old for
this job. Seasonal as it may be. Year after year I only give you fuel to replace
me with one much younger, fuller, greener, and sexier. After so much sweat and
tears why get rid of me? Throw me out on the street like a tired whore. I need you,
but I am too old for this shit and I can’t even dress myself. My needles are dull so I guess
you’ve grown
tired as well.
myrlove 