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Open Poetry #38

Cold Hearts

Masked Intruder

Moderator

Senior Member

since 1999-05-23

Posts 1231
Near golden sunsets

0 posted 2006-08-13 03:12 AM

There comes a point when it falls.

A little drip dripping off an icicle's tip,
I felt it like the chill down my back
every time your eyes slid across me.

An ugly, sort of sordid response,
one I knew was sanctioned by the heavily
wood-trimmed benches, row upon row.

You in the front.

...

She saw the Angel of Death come and go,
but not before the Demons took their toll;
her Demon escaped from nightmares.

You, in a nutshell.
Our family, now, in Hell.

The Angel of Mercy must have been on break.

Flashing lights weren't enough.
Those blaring sirens weren't enough.
The tightened handcuffs, almost to
too tightened, weren't, either.

Nor were the blue-suited, kind men.
They weren't heroes that night,
only tired. But it was her who slept.

Satisfaction didn't drip from her eyes.
They simply stared as our cries
were drowned out by the night.

...

We watched from that wood-encrusted tomb,
as the gavel sent the final trembling,
and dropped that cold, cold icicle
to settle into your blackened heart.

-*-*-

Immortality is my illusion.

SEA