Incarnate
Boyhood days of bees, butterflies and songs,
The protective range of my mother’s voice,
A sweet, happy place where a boy belongs.
A conch shell, a snow-white beach, and a choice.
“Leave it”, she said, “this seashell’s not for you.”
Yet, it spoke like waves - I could not resist.
One day, it whispered things not in fact true -
Through snow, a mirror, I saw that they kissed.
What once was my world, completely shattered.
A broken glass dagger, fountains of red.
My best friend, my girl, all things that mattered.
Oh my God, they cannot really be dead!
My conch shell said, “come to my home to dwell” -
The devil, incarnate took me to Hell.
Copyright ©
David Crandall
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