The Other Side

Humbly taut,

A fawn - so meager -

Delicate in attractancy,

Bows and blushes,

Scatters - so eager -

Avoiding the voices in jactancy.

A fallacy -

How disasterly

The hunter, he hunts her,

So dastardly

By the fear on her face

And the fear in her ears -

The Chase! -

He takes her by force

To his place

Through the forest 

And breaks her

So craftily.

Tender on the cheek

A finger

Left soft to wander

'Cross the drawn-out

Week

And linger just a little

Farther.

Are there any left

To speak?

A hardened tongue

Clicks on

To guard her

From the solemn, yet the

Meek,

And take her for

A daughter.

Oh,

I just want to go.

I told you; you knew.

I had wanted to leave.

But no,

You knew. You brewed.

A cup of coffee on low,

Steaming itself to bitter,

And I, myself, the same.

I stayed.

Everything is very beautiful

and I am alone.

I am the only me ,

The only one

lonely to my sense of world;

How can you know me?

How can I know anything

But myself, my sight, my sounds?

Yet we burn ourselves in fires

Eager to share our minds;

Spew our thoughts like Pollocked colors

And hope to find another.

Yet we spit at the feet of people

Who dare to think for themselves;

Shun the other minds that don’t

Agree with us.

I am beautiful

But so are you.

We are both alone,

But we pass and smile,

Eager for centripetal release.

Fury roams a conscious heart:

A sudden flick of thought escapes

And through--the woven falls apart--

The branches, fury escalades

Until it reaches fingertips--

Now swollen red like boiled beets--

Into a fist, a fleeting whip,

Then back to cool from hasty heat.

Briskly lurked the lout, contorting,

To and from fallacious form

Solely for his sake aborting

Only to again be born;

He hissed and heaved through pompous lips

Forked and tonguing willful ears

And they aborted begrudgingly

Surrendering through hearty tears;

Until a ghost broke from the vessel

The revenant of his cold ego

And snatched his sultry tongue away

Refusing to become libido.

A hero by days' revealing light,

But hushed into the nightly static;

The revenant wins the battle

Retreating to her stormy attic.

Maybe in a dream, perhaps,

A thought could wander past the line--

Horizon guided by time elapsed--

Charmed by rose of eventide.

Maybe it could settle softly--

A calm amidst a sultry gander--

And evade it cooling awfully

Into tyrannous self-conscious slander.

Or maybe it could never be;

By sleep a thought averts inception,

Ignorant and blissfully,

It's birth, a fantastical impression.

Maybe it is just a may-be,

Condemned to everlasting fate,

Reliant on the conscious maybe:

Coincidental prophesying trait.

Aghast, a flock, taken by a murder,

Drowned in black translucent stares

And gone by wind to farther,

Which somehow did assure her

And leave aside her wares.

Ignore the world, she dared,

By calm in caws--allured her--

She pure, or, perhaps a daunting fare,

Decided, now aware,

To leave by flock, by murder.

Lips smacking, fattly laughing,

Ghastly objurgating timely fashion;

Will to crumble--the high elite--

That reign in ego and drown their fleet.

Teased by the steel again--

Drunken wish by sober thought--

And rightfully distraught

To romanticize against the skin,

But, oh, how upset would be the kin

And disappointed by lessons taught,

Though none were sold and none were bought--

So edge pushed in and we begin.

Brittle by the oceans breath

I fell into the matted sand

And imposed, by my selfish breadth,

For calm to flood my heart, and yet

My knees pressed deep in beach's hand--

Penniless by greater planned--

Still pining for action to beget--

And yet! I'm kneeling in the sand.

I found a gentle flutter,

Fluttering admist my stutter,

Cloaked by garment thick and inky,

Choking through the whispered mutters

That a thought aghast did think he

Truly sneaky in movement crinkly

Yet the air filled with sound of clutter–

And now I hear another.

I moved through doorway, rusting archway,

Stolen by the chilly March day

And its frosty kiss and bite;

A vanity about its barged say–

My lips cracking, pursed, held tight

To ‘frain from all my blundering might

That might be accidentally stuttered–

I hear, I fear there is another.

A drum beneath my rib crescendos

All the while the sounding bellows

A rumble-metastasizing terror–

Grandly laughing Lucifer below–

Truly by own cognitive error

That I may fall by wish (to scare her)

And I hear again it muttered–

I know that there is another.

I stop, I hear the clack of prowling

Accompanied by faintest growling,

And the drum that pounds is halted

As I turn my neck to scowling

My effort turns to be defaulted

But he laughing at cost exalted:

Breathlessly I stutter–

“I thought I heard another.”

In parting winds have roared

Like a thousand lions wild,

And soft-ily adored

All the faculties beguiled

By illusions of accord

Until grand light became profiled

And a grasp like gasps of nitrogen

Was solely what was styled.

Walk the line Now, fading paint-- A white disintegrates To faint, And lost is balance On something bold That was promised By sin, But never told.