You - blinded to my naïve innocence,
as poker to the ungambled spirits of ancient mens,
clothed in ragged plaids of greens, burnt amber and silver.
old bodies made young only for the moments
by the newness of temptation.
Me - hard of hearing though not deaf to the women's cry of my birthrights inheritance of civil liberty without justice.
She held them in her wrinkled palms,
like two balls of perpetual kindness when obeyed ,
Treacherous deceptiveness when rebelled against.
The iron hot steam boiling out thick gray smoke,
From the crystal round globes, not catching fire,
Only Stoking The Lacquer of our Senses.
Balled up pieces of newspaper laid upon our eyes and ears,
Thrown into a kiln to bake and cook,
Into something better than what we once had been.
Only we forget as we stew in the juices of our new temptations,
We are not kind We are rebels,
deception in our near future once she turns the heat knob on,
Our only escape to jump out the kiln before she comes back,
You can't see my legs, I can't hear your footsteps,
Yet we hold hands jumping out together,
Now What? Where do we go now that we're free?
YOU ARE READING
Climbing Up Out Of The Ashes
PoetryA Poetry Collection About The Dark Side Of Falling In Love With The Wrong Person And Making Your Way Out Of The Fire...Breath by Breath...Exhaling The Smoke & Breathing In Fresh Air Again. #100poemsin100days challenge beginning August 21- November 2...
