Love Like Introspection

Could I ever be loved as completely

As the honesty of your sincerest introspection?

 

Mortality and eternity,

Subjects so situated in time

That occupy my emptiness

The way I wish I was admired.

 

Could I fill your mind

And terrify your sense of being

In such a way as to change

The reality of your inner quiet?

 

People are like night skies,

Shifting their position and meaning,

So when you gaze at me

I hope you think of what you’re not seeing.

 

We are mysterious and complicated things,

Too important for casual recognition,

And if I’m ever to be loved again

It must be worth our fullest attention.

Wolf Pup Dreams

Five wolf pups sleeping soundly,

Dreaming fantasies to dull their pains.

Every morning they woke to play

With new defenses in their brains.

They dreamed of screamed beratement,

Careless running through the trees,

Getting lost in friendless spaces,

Or simply flying away, free.

Fears and desires breed

The strangest images in wolf pup heads,

The seeds of future habits

They’ll follow, fight, and feed.

Meantime, another day for playing

Running on in spite of what they’ve seen.

 

Pleasant Springs

I don’t know why,

But cruelty always lived in that town.

Maybe it was in the water,

Regularly dosing the inhabitants

As it was swallowed every day.

Perhaps it was under the influence

Of some madness inducing parasite,

Indifferent to it’s casualties.

Or maybe it was cursed

By the remnant of some spirit,

Exercising wrath against the living.

Or maybe it was just cruel.

All I know,

Is that it was hardly innocent.

Behind the pleasant persona

Of a quaint woodland town

Lurked a sea of illness,

Brutallity, and active hate.

To walk the streets

Was to be exposed

To those who stalk the weak

For hardly any cause at all.

Stories of random beatings,

Robberies, and rape

Would circulate so often

To be an ever-present rule.

The law,

The real law evident to all,

Was the Melian Dialogue.

Never spoken, but even so,

Obvious to all who saw.

Small town America,

Christianity and moral life,

Those superfical platitudes applied

So heavily to disguise

The ever-present disscordance

Dancing before their eyes.

The same persons clamoring

For prayers in church gatherings

Walk out continuing

To prey on one another.

Maybe it’s the water,

Some parastie, or spirit.

Maybe it’s a culture

Of sickness they inherit.

I don’t know

What caused the place

To be the way it is,

But cruelty lives there

Nestled deep

And all do as it bids.