from Julia Rose - Wednesday, September 10, 2003
accessed 1321 times
Just a little nonsense
Along the way, a dusty day
Just one more path to tread,
Came I upon a crumbling vine
Somehow filling me with dread.
So insignificant and small,
So harmless do you seem;
All tangled up within yourself
Now troubled I you deem.
And staring at this fragile plant,
Why do I loathe you so?
It seems you conjure memories
I try hard to ignore.
Innocent though you may look
With fragrant flowers blooming,
Within lies barbs though oh so small
Are lethal, all-consuming.
To look at you brings thoughts anew
I have not dared to speak;
The darkest recess of my mind
Lies in your flowers sweet.
Abandonment and shame,
Seclusion and illusion.
A tempest lies within your stem;
Deception and delusion.
Now what I ask can all this mean?
You do not seem a menace,
Then slowly, ever slowly
I see beneath the surface.
Close my eyes and block my ears,
This potent poison seeping
Is threatening to invade my being
And leave me lying, weeping.
Control, contort, twist and squeeze
The very life out of me,
With venom from a thousand snakes
Invading, never let me be.
And suddenly it all comes back
With crashing clarity;
This treacherous, wretched parasite
That has oft fed on me.
That mangled, tortured, stripped my soul
And left neigh but a shell
Of seething hatred, bitterness,
Within love could not dwell.
Not I alone was helpless,
The wound that hurt supreme:
That I could naught but lie and watch
It maim my friends and family.
Borne from privation, suffering
An iron will and mind have I.
But there were others not as strong
That cannot mend, though hard they try.
It is for them that I now bear
This rancor, malice, enmity;
For though my wounds are now just scars
Theirs open & seeping will always be.
The hate with which they live their lives
Tainted now forever,
Has but one cause: the seeds you sowed,
Your corrupt endeavors.
What might have been, I ask myself
If love were your true purpose?
Instead a path of ruin you’ve left
In each life you encompass.
Yes now I look at you with scorn
Unafraid of your sting.
But the bitter sadness still remains,
The marks you’ve left on me.
And so I say to all who hear
Beware of vines as these,
For undisruptive though it seems
Eternal anguish lies beneath.