Wednesday, January 25, 2012


Broken spearheaded horns fragmented in the arteries
drenched black of a still beating heart. Perhaps the one-eye-scarred
protected territory with all might fathomable to a bear, soft
touches on the Furrow barely left a wound. She stands smiling
waiting to return to a den where wheat golden waves, light
rain caress her skin. His blood left no imprint of yesterday’s travels
to peach blossom springs and back. Their fervor a thing of the past,
times of inadequate comfort and childish dreams not made
to last the slapping winds of reality. Where a patch of grass
there was laughter, a cave of colors went silence. Amidst
underground kings and heavenly goddesses were two – of abyss
and of tenderly premise. This was the story often told, hushed
away from ears of men and surrendered into oblivious
myths. What does not kill you eventually does, but for now
the bear’s eyes on passing clouds, he rests.  

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