Don't Talk To Me,
Don't Touch Me,
but
Don't Leave Me.

Banners billow
And flutter in the breeze.
Loose sleeves, loose leaves,
And friendly bees.

To fill a void of broken glass
I inhaled,
I absorbed,
And consumed my past.
Tried to bury it under a pile of ash
And suffocate it with a wiry cord
To no avail!
Because, like a restless panther,
Some unconcealable part of me roared
With an unquenchable thirst
For blood.

I looked at the panther’s golden eyes,
At its slender, shadow-like presence
Wondering what it could so despise
About my very essence
But mostly,
I stared, mesmerized
At a row of white, perfect daggers
That had, no doubt, heard many fearful cries
Before mine.

So I ran, but not fast enough-
For the panther ran faster
Called out my bluff
And leaped to cover me
With a curtain of ink-black fur.
Sensing disaster,
I froze in place,
Flames seizing my lungs,
Having lost the chase -

- And then there was silence.

Catch a calling pigeon,
Tell him what you really think.
Express your deepest statements
To the rim of your last drink.
'Cause society will tell you
That your voice is not worth hearing,
As they cast their vicious judgments,
With their pompous faces leering.

Release your thoughts into the silent night,
Or share them on a small poetry site.
Intellectual conformity is promised:
We learned to lie without being dishonest.