number fourteen

Page Seven

still Mon 28 April, 2008 Greenfield

Another poem from the little, growing book...

Number 14

Bring light here,
bring here the flame.
Those words from my hand,
once upon a time,
when you were young.
Bring light here,
said my hand,
while the darkness all around us
tumored larger every passing year.
Bring here the flame,
I said,
while you grew up
and I grew more afraid.
The more the tumor grew
on people's ignorance and bile,
the more I lit the flames,
clung tighter and tenacious
to our love;
the more I dragged out
all the light I knew.

And still
the tumor swallowed us.

the poetry page of my website.

Update 22 July 2009, Turners: That tumor. It was made, in the end, of mental instability, hatred, lies, and maybe even some jealousy. It was made of money and power. All congealed in two very disturbed people, the landlady and the mafia-connected dealer that moved into the building. And I would not give very many cents for the mental stability or intelligence or compassion of my former case managers at the DMH. Not that I don't have my issues too. I guess the one that annoyed landlady the most was that I withdrew from her more and more all the time. This is what I do when a person is behaving in a way that I don't understand and don't know how to handle. Nevermind, though, that she withdrew from me first. That didn't count in her mind.
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(candle stand at www.toscano.com)

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