poetry

The chill of the look in your eyes Made me still and alert Like a fawn in a field Exposed Vulnerable Listening, watching Taking mental notes Of the subtle signs Of safety, or otherwise. Do you remember when you saw? Or did you ever look? For in you I have long been seeing The reflection of myself. I'm waiting patiently For you to see me again.

What am I without my worries? I am the green of our summer pastures, I am a spring feeding fields. The blissful comfort of my grandmother's bed, The symphony of the sweet summer sounds That call out to me as I sink into sleep. I am the wildflowers I am the dusty shelves and the freshly cut weeds I am the mud at the foot of the hills. What do I know except for my worries? I know the smell of fine thyme tea; The taste of the leaves of young grape wines; The cobblestones of my hometown; The endless racket of the neighborhood kids. I know the bitterness of unripe walnuts; The streaks of cotton trailing behind the low-hangings clouds; The hide-and-seek of light and shadow And the scent of the bubbling strawberry jam Upon the old stove. What am I without my worries? I am many things and that's all I am.

It haunts me At times more vivid than anything real. Flashes before me. An alien, An intruder, A sweet and horrible messenger of time, It infiltrates my mind, Takes a hold of me With its entropic magnetism. We are but servants to its enigmatic force. The ever flowing transformation From nothing to something, From less to more. Overwriting any sense and reason, Taking over our agency With its mystical allure. Our very molecules deceive our will Denying ourselves freedom For a dream of giving life. It haunts me It blocks my airways with a suffocating grip. At times more painful than others Oh, the joy and the horror, The psychosis and the crippling burden of life. The alien beauty of creating another. It takes a hold of me.

Streams and streams of masses Silent in our shackles Miserably strolling, crawling to our deaths. Whips and robes are winding, Ankles, wrists are breaking, Shattering and cracking Under your command. Muted sound our voices Aching, distant, croaky They will never reach you From the sea of noise. Noise of dead compliance Negligence and bias Noise of hardy liars, Ready to reject Basic humanity Devoid of sanity. We carry on and mourn Our long-forgotten strength. But as the streams keep flowing, You'll see our ranks - They're growing. We'll rise and we'll be roaring At your distorted face. We'll watch your figure shrinking, Your softened body trembling, When thrones and castles tumbling Come falling by our feet.