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Corner: Poetry by Ritual Abuse Survivors |
Ritual Abuse,
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Untitled She cries silently as the irises grow They are beautiful with their velveteen petals Dark, dark purple with deep green and the contrasting yellow and white. Many are growing toward the shade for it is cooler and their color more intense Follow her gaze for the irises are beautiful Look not for where the tears fall. The land she sits on is hard, baked clay It is cracked and parched; thirsty for the silent tears. Never to lose sight of the irises. She cannot rise to move toward their beauty for the scorching sun would follow The want to be nearer their beauty would lead to their destruction. Folly in a humorous way Only to see and dream of what it would feel like to be an iris Growing in the cool, forbidden shade. Bridge of my destruction House of cards blown to bits with the breath of beasts Beasts of the letter world for hearts unseen. The red wash tints our view, distorts our reality fumbles with our life. Until she drops it and it shatters into a million pieces.© kaletal
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Last updated: Sunday, 25-May-2008 00:14:39 PDT