Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Waiting


Shall I pull stitches from torn flesh,
to prove you my pain?
Or would that only evidence my mortal status
before your concrete, community throne?
You have stolen and silenced a voice;
taken possession which you can never be worthy. 

You of lofty pose,
pray you seek to fly over the balance of scales
may you climb higher and higher.
For I shall sharpen my saber,
creep close to the ground,
and cut down your beanstalk. 

Within the mists where you find refuge
I shall crouch and bide my time
for when you least expect it
I will be there to remind you
of what you are beholden.

4 comments:

  1. strong opening stanza, which really sets this into play...the proving your pain/but it also showing you unworthy of reaching the same level as them and what they stole...

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    Replies
    1. Thanks Brian! I hope you and yours are well this season... :)

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  2. very powerful expression of grief and loss....thinking of you, Tracie.

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  3. 'hell hath no fury", and all that...i wonder how many of us slink by the business end of that stick--all deservedly of course...i hope that your season is filled with blessings, and that your heart has joy

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