A Silent Assassination

Cut my throat

Snuck up behind

In a dark corner of the world

Left me to fall alone in the shadows.

 

It’s a silent assassination

Of my beating heart,

as the blood in my veins

Spills into the air

and spirals around

Me.

 

A silent assassination

of my boiling mind

And now I hear the footsteps

Of your stilettosĀ  grinding into the past;

The unfinished words,

the unknown thoughts

Pitched forth in a mess of calamity

as they come down

breaking my skull.

It’s a silent assassination

of the suppressed set of words

That I never could say

But here I go anyway:

 

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A Drawing of Summer

I saw a picture being drawn.

Thick charcoal lines

Dark, harsh

enveloped wiry blue gems

as the artist scratched away.

The rough outlines of hair

crumbling away at the edges

so that when the light delicately lands on the canvas

the rigid black blends into a smooth hue,

and the blue dampens;

becomes deeper,

fuller,

altogether more soft.

At first it all twirls and winds across empty space,

chaotically throwing itself and twisting as the artist takes a step back to admire the dangerous work,

this picture though wild

when set in the sun

with the soft glow of the sweet summer air

and seeing what a beautiful landscape has unfolded before it,

the picture smiles,

pulls back the frizzled black lines,

and the blue gems dazzled by the hills on the horizon,

dampen, wash out, like cobalt spitefully shining under morning’s temperance

become one and the same with the sky above;

And I-

my heart began to flutter watching the transformation from such daring rigidness

into the soft, delicate facade

of beauty;

And it has never stopped.