Destructors of Souls
Killers of the Spirit
Why is it ?,
that man, the author, the painter, the sculptor,
the architect of
women’s days, create her troubled nights.
Creates a world
that strangles every innocent, true, emotion.
Creates emotions
so twisted, so closed, that no one can get in.
Why does he
write such horror into the story, for her life ?
Why are his
paintings ?, demented images, in shade of gray ?
Why does he
hammer away at her natural, naïve beauty ?,
creating an inhibited
creature with his mallet and chisel !!!
Why does he
draft plans, sketch images of dark buildings,
wherein she will
hide, walk blindly for thirty years or more
carrying
the weight of - she does not know, but it is wrong
and so she goes
through life wondering why she is like ?
Why does the
animal in man take precedence ?, come to the for
and obliterate
the true nature, nurturing what kills from within.
Tear drops crystallize
- in the corners of her eyes –
after the
pressure of many, many years. of fears,
metamorphosed
into a million diamonds, that reflect
the memories of
- refracting experiences into a thousand shards,
of a mirror,
that tapestry, of the lost innocence of a child
who lives in the
shadows, always walking that last mile.
B. J. “A” 2
July 18th 2014
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