The Muse shows up and the words come gushing.
Starting first as songs, winding their way in pieces
through the still place of mind silence and emptiness
where rambling, hectic, heated thought once ruled,
before that government was usurped, overthrown.
Evolution had to happen. No one likes a tyrant.
The Red Sun
blazes some new
truth – you fill
yourself up on
its hot-wet flow.
Turn, to walk away – wise
as your skin peels, flakes
away – like ash – nothing
but extra weight, you say.
The hair
on your head singes,
turns dark blue, slips
from your scalp,
strand by strand. Nothing
but aggravation, you say.
Your lips
start to tremble, puff
like popcorn, drop
away – nothing,
useless anyway, you
think. You have gained
wisdom – Everything
anyway, you think – Until
a cold voice blows by you,
moves you with a truer truth.
Nothing — it’s nothing – says
the shivering whisper
as you watch the red sun
fall dark from the sky
and the keeper of wisdom
laughs
aloud in the air,
the
world
becomes dark,
and you melt
into ice frozen
with knowledge.
~August 2011
A young girl watches you
get out of the car at Wal-Mart
and thinks – one day
I want to be like that! The pretty car,
the nice clothes, expensive purse,
the perfect hair.
You are the vision
she holds onto, cherishes
in her broken-ness.
She will strive
to become . . . You.
You are her symbol-metaphor
for success – a chance sighting,
a living image of what it means
to have made it. . .
Out of the fear of less,
out of the poverty of nothing,
away from the cold truth of being
inconsequential.
Photo courtesy of Bigfoto.com
Marissa Colleen Mullins 