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Destructors of Souls
Killers of the Spirit

Why is it ?, that man, the author, the painter, the sculptor,
the architect of women’s days, create her troubled nights.

Creates a world that strangles every innocent, true, emotion.
Creates emotions so twisted, so closed, that no one can get in.

Why does he write such horror into the story, for her life ?
Why are his paintings ?, demented images, in shade of gray ?

Why does he hammer away at her natural, naïve beauty ?,
creating an inhibited creature with his mallet and chisel !!!

Why does he draft plans, sketch images of dark buildings,
wherein she will hide, walk blindly for thirty years or more

carrying the weight of - she does not know, but it is wrong
and so she goes through life wondering why she is like ?

Why does the animal in man take precedence ?, come to the for
and obliterate the true nature, nurturing what kills from within.

Tear drops crystallize - in the corners of her eyes –
after the pressure of  many, many years. of fears,

metamorphosed into a million diamonds, that reflect
the memories of - refracting experiences into a thousand shards,

of a mirror, that tapestry, of the lost innocence of a child
who lives in the shadows, always walking that last mile.

B. J. “A” 2
July 18th 2014

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