Every time I want to ache
I find your mark again.
Branded with that first touch,
first kiss, first breath upon my neck.
And when he holds me I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
As though somehow he’ll know that his arms
are your arms;
that his heart beating against my back
is your heart, miles away,
forgetting me.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 1:37 AM UTC
Before the time we know that’s writ
Before the things we’ve heard of it
Back in the first creation fit
Four sisters pretty, oft would sit
Together and discuss the times
And passing moons and passing tides
And the task to which each tries
To ensure the world was lit
With the color or the season
A certain gift was given each one
For a rare and special reason
To paint anew the baby planet
The oldest, cold and fair, she was
Skin white as cloudy sky of gauze
Hair darker than a jaguar’s paws
For Winter’s breathing she was fit
The second, burned just as a fire
Hair red as hatred and desire
Who, gifted artists still inspires
In Autumn, colors all submit.
The third was golden as the sun
Hair bright and body made to run
Eyes blue as ocean’s storms undone
Into summer months she’d flit
The youngest, who awoke the ground
Skin dark as heartwood, deepest found
Green eyes that grow ‘til they surround
The earth with springtime, every bit
Rules for such were very few
Only one they truly knew
Don’t pick the flower 'way from view
Upon the tallest tower hid
For many years they played together
Through every storm and every weather
Bringing seasons like a feather
Any time they thought was fit
Then one day while making garlands
Of pretty flowers wove to form bands
Said,“Hid away, the best of all stands?”
So they dared to go observe it
Beautiful, and true it stood
Like purity and things that could
Move heart of stone and even wood.
“Such art, alone, should never sit!”
So they plucked the only flower
From its grave and gentle tower
All the plants around it cower’d
Knowing powers sleeping in it
Suddenly the ladies shot
Around the world to different spots
Just out of hearing and eyeshot
Thus, the cost of crime commit
Today they wander far apart
Thoughts of sisters in their heart
Work with no end, just new start
Away from friendships benefit
So child when tempted to commit
A sin against which has been writ
Think of four sisters who once could sit
Now wander, from each other split.
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 10:24 PM UTC