The Pedestrian Poet » loss

Poppy Tears

monica — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 01:59:34 +0000

Even flowers cry sometimes
What do they have to cry about?
They are so pretty
But they won’t stay pretty for long
And it isn’t about being pretty
It is about loosing life
Where did they loose it?
I laughed softly
Resting my hand on her shoulder
I don’t know
Maybe they left it under their bed
And forgot it was there
I did that once
She said with a sad sigh
I know I said smiling
Maybe they lost it
In the playground
Hidden under a sandy Everest
I think I get it
The flowers have lost their petals
And that is why they are sad
Exactly and they cry for each others loss
Then why doesn’t it make me sad?
Different things make different people sad
I say with a frown
Watching the poppy’s tears
Roll down its face
You will understand when you are older
But I want to understand now!
I know, I say with a smile
I know as I guide her away
To happier things
To flowers with open faces
Smiling at the sun
But she will never forget
The crying flower
Knowing that every flower she sees
Will cry someday
For what it lost in the sandbox
Or under the bed
We all loose something in the end

Winter’s Embrace

monica — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 23:51:28 +0000

I am tired now let me sleep
The little girl says in a voice scarred
By winters claws in her throat
Not yet, not quite yet
Our feet drag in the snow
Her little hand held loosely in my own
If I can not feel my own hand
How am I supposed to keep track of hers
I feel her hands slipping frequently
From within my grasp
To hang limp by her sides
They drag her down
She is so little
So fragile I have to take care of her
But even as I think this
I feel my eyelids dragging too
We are dying
And I know this
I wonder if she knows too

We keep moving
One foot in front of the other
Trudging through this desolations
To a destination unknown
I have no answers for her
Just empty reassurance
That soon the answer will come
Who knows maybe a flaming chariot
Will come from the sky
In a flourish of warmth
That will thaw our tired bones
Or not.
Nevertheless we keep moving

She falls to her knees beside me
I barely notice in my own fogginess
I am going to take a nap
She says in a voice now more than a whisper
That echoes in my ears like a scream
No.
I say forcing my way through the snow
To reach down and rouse her
She has curled up in the snow
Like a kitten next to a warm fire
There seems no difference
She looks so peaceful as she closes her eyes
I shake her, yell at her
Tell her she can’t die
I have to protect her
Keep her safe and alive
But she is gone now
Curl up in Winter’s embrace
Leaving me in this winter wasteland
Alone.
So devastatingly alone

I kneel in the snow
Unable to move
Not willing to die
But not strong enough to live
Where does that leave me
I pet her soft hair
And say goodbye
I have to continue on
Alone if must be
So I left her behind
She belonged to the winter
Not mine any more
I screamed in silence
Because there was no one left to hear
This desolation this utter fear
It was the first time I had felt anything
Since this terrible winter of silence began
And it was the last feeling I ever had
As Winter pulled me in
And left me hollow and cold inside
I died with her
Long ago in the snow
Yet here I am still moving
But who am I now?

The Butcher

monica — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 03:27:47 +0000

A little boy runs
Through a crowded market place
His arms held out
As he weaves between all the people
A little toy airplane
Held tight in his outstretched hand
He runs along
With a smile plastered on his face
Making airplane noises
All around him is the sound
Of a society
Perpetually on the move
Haggling, arguing
Agreeing, thanking
All the mouths moving
As they converse amongst each other
The boy hears a loud noise
He slows as he runs
It alone stands out
One noise in a world of clatter
It rings in his ears
Finally he stops
As the pounding noise
Is right in front of him
Looking at the market stall
Placed before him
A butcher stands
A meat cleaver in one hand
Humming happily
As he chops into the meat
Of an animals dead corpse
The crack of bones
As the metal crushes
The animal’s dead body
Crack crack crack
It echoes in the boys ears
As the butcher wedges the knife
Out of the cutting board
Out of the pile of pulverized meat
The butcher wipes the blood
On his white apron
Laughing as he notices the boy
Standing there motionless
His arms dangling limp
At his sides
The butcher brings the cleaver down
Again and again
The boy flinches each time
Following each little movement
With eyes wide
Hands gripping tightly onto
The little toy airplane
The butcher spits to the side
And looks down his nose
At the small innocent boy
He snorts again
You wanna try kid?
It’s fun
He holds out the cleaver
Stained in blood
The little boy drops the toy
And steps forward
Out of his old world
And into a new one
As he grabs onto the knife
To big for his tiny hands
The forgotten toy sits on the ground
It is crushed beneath the crowd
As it moves forward
Always moving
The boy doesn’t notice
The crack of bones resounds
Echoing into a crowd that doesn’t listen
And doesn’t care
Except for the little crushed airplane toy
That lays broken and forgotten
As a boy walks away from innocence
Into a world of blood
As the cleaver falls