Transfiguration

Petrified, my heart
Refuses your vain entreaties
Deny the charm of your
Silver-plated words
Which do insinuate
Like cold serpents.
Give me your kiss of sin
So I may spit the poison
Into the well of your being
Which I devour —
A rapacious beast.

This is the harsh truth, I’ll sugarcoat it none

Games of luck and games of chance
Flying a kite on a warm summer’s day
Are wonderful, stress-free pastimes
Those childhood modes of play.
But do not think to tinker with my heart
To take it apart and wait until I erect it again
Do not mistake an emphatic “NO” for a start
And resume those cruelest forms of trickery.
That façade that proclaims kindness is false
That smile only searches for a new toy to break
Like a self-deluded hero
You mistake a friend as a vampire to stake.
And though I loved you, and showed myself true
I love myself more, than to be treated so by you.

Advertisement

Stone Sentry

In the tingling cold
The lion’s mane
Grows large and bold
Coated by a gentle snow
His stone façade
Becomes a show
Of tranquil night
And calming deep
A vigilant guard, at last
Asleep

Well

In the well, the surface is always calm
But deeper it runs than any lake
And longer, does it journey than any river
As unfathomable as an iceberg
It is never as cold
And nurtures a kind reflection
Of those who draws its waters

Naive

If I wear my heart on my sleeve
It is from trust and acceptance
It is from seeing only the best in you.
This world which is dark and cynical
Can never destroy the best of me
Which allows me to love and be loved in return.

Antisocial Behavior

Sometimes I’d like to put a Do Not Disturb sign
On my face when smiling is too much
When I don’t wish to pretend to care
Or have enough energy to wave your competitive talking
Away as insecurity or envy
Most of all, I want to keep my joy close
A candle sheltered from the wind with my own chest
An exclusive warmth to luxuriate in

Envy Not Thy Neighbor

The people peep into keyholes
Into parlors laden with roses
The finest china
And souvenirs from far off places
In this dim glimpse
It is too easy to imagine happiness
Dwelling like a dream
And ashamed they hurry away
Shawls or coats pulled tight
Never daring to knock on the front door
Never hearing the arguments on the second floor
Never knowing the unwashed garments piling in the laundry room
The children slamming doors and pouting
The worm-eaten peonies
That the mistress of the house sobs over
In the barren garden behind the white picket house