Monday, August 16, 2004

To Solitude

Like an old mistress from the past
You return.
Casting light in my shadows,
You come
To hold me companion.
Your ghostly hands,
White, pale in luminescence
Embrace me tight.
I shut my eyes
And bask in the radiance
Of your cold burning fingers.
They pierce me alive,
Urging me forth
To capture the self
I've abandoned.

Street Life

Little children play
At adulthood
Skipping mirth, shirking innocence,
They plead rescue.
Gnarled fingers, twisted eyes
Little demons chasing
Away evils of their own.
To the streets they come
And play little children
Hiding within bodies young
Gazing with old unwisened eyes.

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