LACE

Time threads it lace around the heart
squeezing it with serenity and fire,
soft, silky strands of nostalgia
stroke their sanguine memories over the moment
when an image or thought
sews a recollection to the brain,
others it weaves the black venomous strings
stinging in tightening sensations,
burning their caustic caresses across the soul
from a moment the past slithers as a cobra
across the mind with hate’s painful toxins.

It is an involuntary dance to a wicked calliope’s serenade,
replaying the circus where one once languished,
bathed in the bath of bliss and rage,
immersed in the swirling recollections
that twist the insides with their hugs and fangs.

Finding silence in the light
to stop the resurgence of screams,
mourning and embracing the pages of the past
as a satire and murder mystery,
where laughter is the stain of echoes
from visits to former lairs of happy face sunrises
and those when the knife from an abuser’s hand
still haunts with the image
of that dagger stuck in the back,
which killed one’s hopes and trust.

Tomorrow is the crow,
dark and uncertain
beckoning to a corn field
where you hope to find a Kansas for your life,
safe and predictable,
with a harvest of something you can eat
not having a taste that is bittersweet,
inspiring another journey
to the rollercoaster in the head
leading to a fun house of demons and angels.