Monday, March 26, 2007

B & W

Dressed in jet black I stand, behind a fa├žade of mirrors
My ego bites me, yet I stand, bearing my ‘scissors’.
Dressed in jet black I stand, and blackness stands beside me
It pours down hard, drenching me, dousing me, cleansing me.

I know not I would see her today, I know not the night will pass
My body emits a flagrant odor, my heart yearns to trespass.
I have an urge to cry, to burn every home, to intrude, to pry
She is heartless, does not love…does not lie…does not die…sigh.

I kneel to the ground, smear my forehead with dust
Blind myself to obviate looking at Lust.
She wears white, delineating a perfect contrast
She too stands still, though her ego lists on the mast.

The waters shimmer under the moon, hurricanes as bystanders expect
Time with its copacetic charm is patient, the engine serenades for effect.
The ship is on fire, burning bright, the ‘scared’ run with no land in sight
I kiss her, my grasp is tight, the blackness yields to the white.