Ruins and Precious Things
Ruins are abounding in that mind of yours;
Walls that have crumbled are causing pause for step.
Treading lightly in intention;
don’t want to break the only pretty thing that remains.
Casual introductions are made in smoky rooms,
smiles shared that hold no key to your meanings.
So you continue to walk blindly through
the faceless crowd of serpents shedding skin.
I am your only guide;
The only one who knows where the fault lines exist,
and just how to avoid them falling through.
From one nightmare to the next,
you awake with an Angel by your side.
Precious things do sometimes sprout
from between the seams of what was old and black to you.
Don’t be so afraid to ease your stride,
or to peer above the walls of this enclosure.
It is only a pen made by your boards,
and hammered in by your nails of memory.
Your demons hold no sway with me,
not with my divinity or the pride of my kiss.
This is everything that you do not know.
This is what came crashing through the barricades.
Unstopped by soldiers, steel points at the ready
and knives to our throats.
I walk as if on air-
with no care for your vicious lashes.
Nor a thought to brutal intentions;
They have never scared me before.
Copyright © Greta Veranes-Kitts | Year Posted 2011
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