The hazy days of January birthed her
The cold dreary dawn chanced upon her in great disrepair.
Her clothes soaked in the sweats of her nightmares.
She gasped into oblivion only to embrace sleep
 As though it was her lifeline to reality.
 A check, she placed on her mortal skin
 Lest, the scars swell from disuse.

Steps echoed in the building
Announcing the long-legged prim and proper lady.
She who thought the manor was her inheritance.
Her chest strut out
Her linen pressed to a cut
She ruffled her feathers to a dispute of self

 Singing to her heart’s content and playing heartily on the strings.
Glazed over like the stained glass over the altar in the sanctuary
 The trance held her captive.
She thrashed and swore sweetly
 Her voice carrying the chills of death down the spine of each present being.
Eyes widened, mouth gaped, breaths sharpened
 Yet none could fathom what it was that had so much to offer.

She wished for a soul yet a hollow chest was what she got.
The hard way she learnt of treason to the mind;
 None of those hard steel rushing into the skin
It just felt like that speeding cylindrical thingy that burns through
 Searing all in its path.

The soliloquy of life begun in the impish ways of man.
Creation thus brought to its knees as the created dare build up falsies to begat what was.
Folly, Creation screams, yet her cries are naught but shrills in the dark of the night
Dare I say the dust morsels crave the bonds of the rock?
Then, she caresses the grains into meals of tomorrow
Cradled deep in the vines of nature

Tassels of the overhung cloth she pulls
Dreading the lights that may pour in
The paints she swore off her self
Zealous they murder the blackness of her hollowed being

Tempting the echoes of the strung wounds.

Post a Comment

What is your view on this post?

Previous Post Next Post