May we never fall for a love that is not yet ready! EarlyMorningWritings
I checked myself out
with the moon as a mirror,
shadowing me about like the embrace of a sad lover.
This is not me
undead, scurrying about like a rat
caught red handed.
This is not me, I say to it,
the timid figure moving around in circles
all about me.
Could this be me in the last century,
when words still had their honour
and love could mean a lifetime bliss?
In coming, I'm a century too late
like a goodwill charm from the exorcist.
And like a pot of overpriced curse;
I'm unleashed on a world that's not ready.
Private screams and public quiets,
I try to push this life back
into the wailing oceans of my mind.
The tale of an unripe love
and a ready lover!
If it were in the age I should have come,
I would have been scuttled away
far off from the aisles,
unto the altars that say a prayer.
In that life, holding hands will be
as easy as breaking dawns.
And love-making will have no price tag.
For that century before the century
before the last one,
more humans would have made heaven
than animals
