The Jungle of My Heart
The tangled vines of green tree limbs swing back and forth
as the tallest trees compete to out-shadow one another,
and yellow tigers crouch behind bushes wait for their prey to come along
and bite down on soft necks, the crake of bones- one second a cold meal
served on the long grassy earth of my deep heart.
Those tigresses prowl up and down the jungle plans
as the violets of the sun shine bright and violently-
as the birds sing song in skies so blue
my tired eyes have lost trace of those yellow tigresses
and that one big lion.
I prowl along the green covered roads,
hands in my pockets,
waiting for something-something, something-
but nothing, or no one or anything or anyone
comes or goes or comes;
and I sit and I wait on a bounded rock
waiting and waiting and waiting.
YET- those dreaded yellow tigresses never come, they never come,
and I have lost trust in those birds that fly high and sing songs-tweet-tweet.
Nor do I the sun, or the reflection of the silver laced moon,
not even a single twinkle of a small star-
nothing, nothing, nothing.
Never did I sit so long on that grey, bounded rock nailed to the floor of the green jungle
of my heart.
Love was eating up long ago by one or two of those yellow tigresses,
and I know it- oh yes I know it,
yet I stay, yet I stay and I wait- wait for something good.
as the jungle starts to burn down by men in orange hard hats
and bulldozers, I still sit,
and I wait- dedication for something out of the ordinary, I still wait,
for I promised someone, someone near and dear to myself,
and promise so near to the heart- that it cannot be broken (and I don't break promises)
So I wait- and if I shall die in this jungle of my heart- alone,
then so be it,
as long as I never break that promise.
Then may those yellow tigresses have their way with my body.
.2.23.2014.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2014
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