I am a question…
brash, impertinent, callow,
taking all by surprise,
a gunshot in the darkness.
You are an answer…
soft, smiling, responsive,
drowning in honey,
a sweet dew in the morning.
Together we are an imperfect fit,
the immiscible mixture,
a rose of razor edges.
I am not your question,
you are not my answer.
The street echoed
with a child’s scream
Horses frozen in mute agony
with nostrils flared and eyes of fright,
turned to stone by unseen Medusa.
Phantoms whirling and spinning,
flying frightfully to music macabre
as the world slips out of sight.
Horses gallop faster, twisted in fear,
’til they keep their pace no more
and sink into the swirling tornado
of music, mirrors, and machines.
They twist to the tempo of terror,
until the elusive Medusa once again
silences them into terrified statues.
careful now, do not look up
at the young faces suddenly old,
twisted in long forgotten grief.
the weight of the world rests
suddenly on our shoulders
and we heave heavy sighs
and feel a bitter pain
in our sickened hearts.
it is easy to forget sorrow
and to tuck into memory,
hoping it will fade away.
it resurfaces again
to remind of us of death
someday to come for us.