the web, silver, wet and sticky.
– how, wonders she, to such a state as this?
His shoulders stooped,
his voice high pitched, his hands cupped and curled,
“Do you like the web, my dear?”
“No,” says she
and he chuckles at her deadened voice and vacant stare.
– Resistance is equal in taste so he waits for the vibrant living thing.
–An extension of himself the web lures like a jewel.
A lover of sorts, awaiting her approach,
He resists rubbing his hands together and licking his lips.
– Soon enough to savor her terror
– Soon enough with just one more step
she will enter the silver, wet and sticky web and her heart will pump and her mind awake
– too late.
“Why my dear do you hesitate?
Look at the silver and the beauty of the weave—a beautiful thing for your hair,
a beautiful wrap for your shoulders my dear, now bare.”
Abruptly she walks in
– so abruptly the web stretches against her strength, his breath intakes sharp and surprised,
then sighs out in a high-pitched delight.
She turns, twisting entwining her arms, her fingers, her feet against the sharp silver-cold web he continually creates.
Jolt and tremble, silent screams upon her features, he reaches out for her
savoring her trapped existence.
“Softly my dear, softly. My appetite takes only sips of existence before the gulp of annihilation.”
Cnaejna
Come with me to the skylines of London.
I am rejected by God for good reason.
See the steeple, pierced deep and dimpled down between the
Steel and glass scrapers of the sky?
Take my hand and feel the ice cold sorrow of what life is,
I’ll allow you to think you can save me.
I’ve seen so many years, so many attempts at power and vindictiveness.
I did not relinquish my hope of heaven for any of these.
Violence and its shock do not soften by its frequency.
Men know this.
My motive was to live. My motive is to feel. My desire is now.
Listen to my siren voice if reason cannot defeat fear.
She shone like a star even as a child. Her green eyes glowed and her
Red hair was brilliant like the sun and the mist could not defeat her.
I summoned her like all young girls that had potential to survive the
Long years of life and hell.
But she loved. She loved impossibly.
Society waste such girls on men, waste such girls on their idea of love.
I was her escape to a wandering, wailing, burning, defiant, peace.
Come with me to the skyline of London, the dark murky shadows and
Man’s pitiful attempts at lighted darkness.
Come with me to find the girl, find the saint who dare shun me.
War we’ll find in the hunt for fear and frenzy.
What more can I give for the rejection of the life of damnation I offered?
The cross she chose, the cross she will cling while scraping the ground
That slips and slides, tilted toward the hell I give her.
Photo by Luke Stackpoole on Unsplash
Entering Hell
If I became the female self of Dante Alighieri
I want Hans Rookmaaker as my Virgil – my teacher through hell.
Hell then would be a spiraling modern art gallery, a nine story icebox.
The bottom of that icebox the imprisoned Monet, paintbrush in hand,
“Where is the sensation?” Monet laments to his separated talent.
“Where the five sensations go when dead, I suppose,” states the demon.
Asking my guide if all our talents speak after death, he teaches me;
“Those to whom death surprises remain separate from themselves.”
“And how does death surprise, teacher?” I ask.
“By allowing sensation to be your guide is just the start of death’s deceit.”
My guide takes me to my soul’s Beatrice.
A monk who prays the classics and beautifies the deep well walls of knowledge.
We labor the illuminated mountain together.
Photo by JR Korpa on Unsplash
In Love with Centuries Ago
So who has made you? Who has placed your heart within my reach, who has formed the clay that forms the walls that contain you and me?
The silence of this house settles lovingly upon my shoulders and the tension eases.
I touch the wicks of the candles upon the altar of my studies and ponder living forever without regret.
How, my love, have I come to hope for the darkened places where all of my senses but sight may unlock the logic into mystery again?
Strike the match, inhale the scent of fire and live eternally in the moment of incineration.
Become mesmerized by the soft flame imprisoned by its source of power.
Faith defeats fear.
I am falling further away into cold stone towers, mullioned windows and baptized kings.
I read the words by candlelight and think of you writing history. I may never finish what I have begun, but I have begun what we must finish.
Love in the strangest sense. I dream of washing your feet in the warm saltwater that lulls you to sleep.
Centuries away you awaken in the morning with a passion for life beyond the ache of muscle and bone.
Have you ever waited for the inevitable pain of heartache?
Where is the star dust of your worldly existence now that your soul sings before the throne of God?
Light a candle for me and watch the flame flicker and hold upon the impossible tip and dream of the frigid wave upon wave of fresh water.
Passion is certain in any of us, yet it is the open mind that soothes the soul.
My Ascent and Fall in Love
Catapulted
Right off the ground
I knew straight up
There was nothing for it
So I spread my arms
On the ascend and lifted my chin
And while the numbing wind
Blows through my hair, my body,
I will take a moment
To forget.
Ignore the memory of
The smashing that is coming
The splat on the grass
And the certain tumbling.
Forget the fact that
Being screwed over is
My fault here in
The twenty-first century.
Be smarter, be better, find
the weak point and thrive.
There is no excuse for tender
Moments and forgetting
The power of lust.
My eyes wide for the momentary stop,
A surge of adrenalin!
Blue sky and white cloud all
On the horizon
But here it comes that
Mild descent.
I open my chest to the pinnacle.
Now
Close my mind,
pause and dive.