Life Is Not An Object

A thing possessed wriggling in sordid clutches of desire is no longer an object inert and inanimate, a life unsuspecting and falsely secured the hot desire melts insanely, flows like bleached blood in the shrunk veins and drowns the shattered heart. The numbed senses crushed and thrown in the wind can’t return home for the home is plundered. A body pillaged by vile instinct of desire is no longer a body animate but turns a debris for a pried object poached defenseless crumbles disgraced, the shamed soul sinks. The object called life cared and adored the heart safeguards to display with pride. The life turned an object used and ravaged the heart rejects to save the soul shamed. If time doesn’t lift the spirit of dignity out of the ruins and the power of self-preservation can’t heal the wounds of the bruised psyche the courage to face the world would make the object of shadow a human of substance again and life would rise from the dust reborn. December 8, 2017.