Apple and I,
are afraid of you,
what you are seeing, hearing,
Whispers of war, brewing,
witches in the branches,
wishing on the hour, emerging,
wizards in the leaves, falling,
revealing, Whispers of war,
are not, what others have seen,
accepted before, Apple and I,
are afraid you will, believe,
and listen, and then,
look,
Moon rises between the un-forming, branches of my sky,
as you,
curiously, peel away, picking,
remarking, casually, with glitter, tossing
the rotten ones on the floor,
rolling into the corner,
while the ripe ones, the ones that glow,
sunset red and sunset gold,
your eyes fill with pleasure, plan,
the smell of pie and glue guns,
tracing, the once-been cross-hatched markings of dough,
tightly woven into the bark blackened,
around my face,
with your glue guns, hot, and dripping,
how can you ask, me,
to bake a mask, for my child?
when,
Apple shivers under the yawning, yellowing, rising Moon-
I can't hold him, and hide my face too.
Can't you see the salt dripping between my fingers,
silver needles, scissors, flashing, with my thumbs,
flashing, thin silver cords, when I look out,
cutting, the pastry, in my red apron, I can't hide him, from you,
silver needles flashing, gold thread forming,
from the Moon, spun, asked,
always a price,
always a price,
and yet, you, ask for more,
gold thread to be spun, to name,
the tree growing without my permission,
he is too beautiful, to want,
to prune, to capture, to release,
he is too beautiful, to hide,
glowering within the amber fire of his dark shadows,
when the Whispers held him,
fed him Whispers into the late of October,
because I could not, sing down the wind,
because he is too beautiful, to sing,
down the wind, and be born,
beneath the angry eye of the dragon moon, hungry,
careful
Apple and I know,
Apple and I know,
where the Whispers went,
where the Whispers went to follow, and curl,
into the hollow of his arms, cradling, him,
while his parents, cried over their stillborn,
child, face down, in the dirt, leaves crumbling,
into gathering Whispers, as they buried, him,
sending him to where the Whispers went,
to follow, and curl, into the hollow of their arms,
cradling him, welcoming him into their company,
in their,
graves holding the once-living,
who holds the never-alive?
Apple, The Moon and I whisper,
sing down the wind to me,
sing down the wind to me,
he is too beautiful,
trying to hold, me,
with their tiny lullaby hands,
but what do children know,
that a lover will listen too?
Oh Moon,
He sees you looking,
and tries,
to rip the hands from my face,
the scissors from my hands,
the needles from my thumbs,
strangling himself in silver and gold,
threads, so young, spun, and hot,
he can not know,
who his parents are,
he can not know,
what prices were paid,
to the witches and wizards,
so he could,
sing down the wind, with me,
my child, sing down the wind,
with me, we are afraid,
Apple and I are afraid,
all he can feel, is
the tree of his heart,
growing too big,
to hide behind, another mask,
what will you find?
when his temper, unchecked,
sends the Whispers to love,
with the tree of his heart,
Apple, and I are afraid,
afraid for you.
No comments:
Post a Comment