[Watching]
As you nurse that flaw,
your loathesome treasure this raptor's prey:
Merciless, all flesh laid raw,
With thought, in eyes, by word, or claw.
And always,
Is your will and way,
Concealed behind a sealed glass door.
[Knowing]
Is a transient thing;
In a world so prone to change as ours,
A cup shaped realm all flowing with
friendship
and deceit -
Each drop, a word!
... a butterfly -
a lion or a blade.
Each splash full up with feathers, ink,
paper, blood and bones,
Within the ichor an eerie fish,
Whose ribs showed through crystal skin
or a curled figure,
blessed without a name.
And within the disorder
every other utterance,
a lamb beneath my beak.
[Afraid?]
And captivated;
No other idle being could say so much,
Nor sting, or bite, or ravage,
Quite the way as human kin-
so very beautiful in sin.
And yet, within the human void,
And days gone by (as grains of sand),
Something, one. A heart,
has forced my hand.
... a lock on a new cage.
A new captive - the first stage.
[Needing]
That precise curse -
Tears or scars, or yet still worse,
Nothing beneath and nothing between,
Yet in every word a soul unseen -
Everything that has been understood,
Is wrong,
For you at least.
[Alone...]
Even amidst these lukewarm waves of lives,
On an empty beach
with only
cold
grey
shingle and
empty shells.
