The rose blooms quietly, shyly, on the vine.
There are so many lovely flowers in this lush, beautiful garden.
But this rose, somehow, she catches his eye more than the others.
Maybe it is the depth of the red that attracts.
Like fire, or passion, a message is in this red.
And the petal is so soft, it feels like velvet.
He cant resist to plunge his nose into the center, and inhale.
“Mmmmm”, so intoxicating.
He can’t stand to leave it there.
He touched it, he inhaled it, and he must have it.
He grabs the stem.
“Ouch!”, he cries.
“Dammit! Stupid bitch.”
He plucks the petals off, forcefully in one fist and tosses them to the ground.
Steps in them, and smears them, until the crushed petals resemble blood spatter.
“There you go, sweetie,” he says, and walks casually away.
It was a tiny graze but she knew it would grow larger if left untended.
So stupid, just fooling around never thinking he would shoot her in the foot.
She could have gone to the drug store bought some stuff off the shelf to take care of it when it was small
but she didn’t
and now it was festering doubling in size daily.
It could have been prevented
checking the barrel for bullets or not screwing around with a dangerous weapon
to begin with.
Little mattered now.
The wound was growing huge soon it would be hard to hide from anyone.
He left the scene at the first sight of blood.
She would have to deal with this alone.
All this whirling in her mind as her teeth smelling of whiskey bit deep into the bullet
as an out of town surgeon took a saw and amputated the gangrenous leg
tossing it in the pile of so many legs lost by careless and stray shots.
The ants march by, small, sensitive,
Communicating wildly with their antenna.
Each one carrying mandatory burdens.
Passing by the warrior ants,
With their fierce pincers and obtuseness.
Scurrying around with their little feet.
Burdened anew by things, mostly by the call
For uniform deference to the queen.
How they carry now, the white larvae,
How they must but seldom may and could.
The weak they tear apart with glee
With those sharp mandibles.
Not knowing yet, of the antlions,
Kept ignorant of so much,
Purposely so, it seems to their detriment.
Honing their ferocity and sameness.
I was fire.
I boiled you.
You put me out.
I was light.
I gave you my energy.
You snuffed me out.
I was dirt.
I dirtied your presence.
You blew me away.
I was the stars.
You, the universe.
I was a small part of you.
You were my world.
I still care.
You still don’t.
Some of the wiser squirrels,
looking down their time-marred noses,
decided (As they sat atop their tested branches,
near their calmly gathered nuts,)
that the young ones were all lazy.
Twitching energetically from their trash-can cheeto-crumbs,
the young ones glared with chagrin at their elders.
They agreed things could be better.
But the problem wasn’t laziness.
The problem wasn’t even (as the young ones figured) greed.
The problem was in circumstance,
And lack of fear for life.
“20 Years Ago”
I planted a tree.
I prayed it would grow.
I worried about that tree.
When it was young, I had to help it stay strong.
Tying up the branches with sticks and string.
Guiding it through bad weather.
The tree was stubborn.
One day green?
One day wilted?
Once I stopped worrying so much, it grew!
Today it stands 50 feet tall.
Now, it can sustain any wind that blows!
The tree, no longer belongs to me.
I can visit it, but it doesn’t need me anymore.
I miss the tree, planting it and helping it grow?
My greatest accomplishment, by far.
I do not get, or take credit for planting it.
The new owners of the tree?
They don’t know it’s history.
Most will never know it was me.
Except for the tree.
On second thought?
I think, even the tree forgot?
Depending on the weather.
A stab through the heart that doesn’t kill you,
but leaves you to suffer alone.
Those teeth ripping your body to shreds as if it no longer belongs to you
Skin bruising under the abusing
of power that has taken place here
You trusted a monster,
and the monster has just eaten you alive.
Slice the razors of truth on your arms
cutting into those lies you told
well, truth bites back, and
Another red line, another lie,
another day has passed but you left her alone and she won’t come back.
another cut for the pain you caused.
Why‘d you do it?
For that brief moment of pleasure that you
dont even enjoy anymore
It’s the vacant streets,
The hurried feet
Street lights polish quiet terror.
Like beacons I crowd under.
The closest thing to sanity I have
Black water roots like fingers,
Across a mired mind
Uncertainty sewn on swollen feet
Misery with no company,
If everything we see is light?
Oh my shadow,
Why you haunt me at night?
the cinched tight corners
of the upturned crescent
on the face I see an imposter
plastered over hidden upwellings
those tepid surface waters
smothering chilled oceans
of frigid transparency
you have hidden
I can only dip the edge
of my smallest toe
into the shallow warmth
sensing the swirling tide
but, to closely fathom it
they have to submerge themselves
in the darkest depths
of that wicked agony
like flowing water cleansing the soul
feels like magic if its done right
unites people like a treaty done right
like a sunrise for your ears
like peace as close as we can come anyway
like a fresh rasberry ready to be plucked, it waits... for us.