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Description
Though words held definitions: none, they could not cease to speak.
For in their tainted discernment, their wits were proven bleak.

So, shamefully, she aimed to fail,
To clear their sights of poisoned ale.
Façades could hide the drowning wail,
But brittleness, they would impale.

Uncomplicated words reveal the falsities within their core.
The adoration lost itself along the way outside her door.

Foreseeable, became her fall.
Indifferences could not enthrall;
Classifications standing tall,
Just like the writing on the wall.

Her sight had burned their retinas; and loathing scorched a bruise so creased.
An observation of the prey had proven unfelt warmth deceased.

How do the starving young consume,
Inside the breathless, heartless womb?
How can they carry on and bloom,
When “dog eat dog” creates their tomb?

Kindhearted nausea floods the scene. Who’ll sense a weak atrocity?
Can they neglect their routine acts and loosen up in ennui?

She shut her eyes, they closed their mind,
And used the only thread they’d find,
To stitch her heart into a bind,
And seal her soul not to remind.

Too difficult to understand, they cried within their own embrace.
It was, too, such a rabbit plan; how could they lose the turtle race?

Before her voice had lost its hum,
She sat and counted one by one,
The villains in her tale, lonesome,
Too fraught to sing of ties undone.

Forgiven, smothered, foolish keys had placed themselves inside the chest,
And stretching for the soothing gorge, they perceived under house arrest.

She rests upon the tattered pile,
The throne she’ll own a little while.
And as she dies she’ll write on file,
“How cliché it’s become to smile.”

© Sylwia Wielgosz 2004.