Death Grip
Recoiled from birth—always snapping
Clawing his way through the frustration of failure
Empty tremors dare to break her stance
But like some light, unseen object
She is never fully on ground
But floating just above his lowered head
Critical in all that he sees
Little visions he retrieves—but everything is clear to her
Unlike this weed, she glorifies disappointment
And laughs at the face of discouragement
As merciless hearts pull and tug at his body and mind
She leaves him wondering why she is so kind
Either under or above—her patience is ferocious
Her touch is ice sliding across oiled silk
And so light—it burns
As his entire being shutters with angry love
For just when he reaches her level
She abandons above
Burrowing in the recesses of some other secret spot
Only he possesses—and only she can attain
As miserable as he is, his emotions are cooled
By the playfulness of her ever-changing mood
And at times he can only stop and stare
Something as beautiful as she
Could be found everywhere
But for him he finds not one to compare
Though her qualities are the billowing seas
Though her features read upon the fructuous clouds
And upon the smiling sky tides
In every dimple of a smile
Every warmth by the fire
New laughter in a heartened heart
Eyes glare toward heaven
And smash those below
As she lightly squeezes his soul
And never quite lets him go
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
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