meadows that stays so green at spring
and so bared in autumn
magically white in winter
scorching and gold in the air of summers
perennial.
how do they do that?
to stay the same on the foundation
yet ever-changing on the surface.
what difference does it make really?
what kinds?
of the surcoats of hazel and acorns
or the blankets of snow on the slender branches
of trees?
don't they, even once
feel weary of all the undercurrents,
of shifting shapes of shadows?
and stand their ground
and shouted their demands
and push at intractable walls?
and flop down
and sift like flour
and grate like mozzarella?
to toss the gauntlet
say
'enough!'
doesn't anyone ever muses then
of whether the slideshows of nature
being flagrantly displayed and paraded
before their soon indifferent eyes
would feel of their performance.
but oh,
those poor meadows,
those poor meadows,
those pitiable meadows.
continue with your acts and scenes
that shall never pauses nor halt
oh no, no.
for you are impressive actors
on the forested stage
and the eyes, belligerent
yes, they are
will be watching the other way
never straight to your eyes
your artic, chilled
encasing a turbulent, melting, whirling
hot caramel core
yeap, right there on your irises and pupils.
so go on
go on
my delectable
my neglected
my pushover
my poor meadows.
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
a laugh
a reckless smile
a chuckle
how hollow
how empty
how harrowing
eyes clicked shut
ears jammed close
limbs weighted
and air turns liquid
corrossive and thick as
fumes of consuming embers
the hunt
turns frenetic
goes frantic
still the screen remains shuttered
the space under the door
letting little monsters to trickle in
but no light comes with them
plugging close whatever's left
of illuminated space
and they shrieked their attendance
announcing their presence with
the aplomb of a fairy queen's coronation
i asked them
one simple question
'what? what made you come here?'
their gazes devoid of empathy
they looked at each other
and their still arriving mates
and voiced one answer
'because you are you'.
and i feel my lips tugging at the corners
and my tears building
in the dammed lake behind my retinas
and my feet grow roots
to seep and spread
beneath the barren ground
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 10:49 AM UTC