Phil Naylor Poet I do not know?

Imitation

You are many things to within
A quarter of capacity.
Eyes drawn back to show
a sea of emeralds. Cut like a hexagon
Imitating diamonds.

The skin of your nose, crinkled
With disapproval. Worn velvet, Patched
To imitate strength. Stretched further than
Full length to imprison your shadow.

The daylight scorches you, revealing
Your lack of everything. Your desire to fish
Unanswerable questions from the air,
Latch them to people, feeding on discomfort.

Luring prey with your angelic mask,
Probably butchered from a previous victim.
Your gift is to make stone out of everything,
Steal the light.

Ridiculous, your dissatisfactions voiced
When life does not mirror you. The glass trembles
And retreats from such an image.
What could have caused such bitterness?

The child’s eye is beautiful and clear;
A window to a world of blissful understanding.
You would smash it like porcelain, watch
The pieces scurry to safety.

You are a different kind of meat eater,
Feeding on the flesh of dreams. Chewing
Every drop of potential from the cells.
A bitter North-wind, clashing with the weight
Of summer. You have clashed with me before,
But you are empty. Your impact an illusion.
Your message spent. A cheap imitation.

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