Soft Small Frame

Rain drops fall, splattering as they hit the ground
Masking the sound of quickly moving feet
A faster moving heart beat,
pulsating, vibrating a small frame body as it presses against an alley wall
Catching a breathe, pausing for a quick rest
Thunder sounds, lightning strikes high, splitting the night sky
Heaven cries, sorrowful tears indeed
Looking at her hands, water rolling from face to cheek meets salty drops
Young black seeds in hard earth soil grow solid like stone
Home grown to be hard like diamond, but many with a soul soft like cotton
Touched by God at conception, and kissed by the devil at birth
Earth is in its last days, and they are in a maze of confusion
Delusions of love are passed over for lust and sex
Regrets are made in the throngs of passion
Passion draped all over the hands of one young woman standing in the rain
Looking at hands that had just come from caressing soft brown skin
But not knowing though his body was within hers
His love was only between her thighs, her eyes regret the day they first saw him
And try as they may, they couldn’t wash away the memory
Flashbacks and visions of all she had seen of and in him
These things proceed and all of a sudden the rain gives way to sunny days of happiness
Picnics, six months of indulgence in a world that was not hers
Lured in by his charm, holding on to his arm everywhere they went
Seemed like a sign outwardly of his inward content
But content is sometimes only contempt in wait
As he played her with Veronica, Suzanne, Lizbeth, Shawna and Grace
From massage to manauge, from discrete circumstance to desecrate indulgence
His fingerprints on their bathroom mirrors punctuated his deeds
Tendencies are ironies in wait
Because as was his practice, as was his fate
She had left in a commotion as Grace came to confront him
Seeds that he had let grow inside her, how could he have lied to her
Her fingers on prints of pictures taken by a camera phone of a friend
When he was showing outward content in the arms of Suzanne
Perhaps one could have been seen as a confrontation of short will versus high heeled determination
But now, prints clutched in her fingers, him inside this young girl
When nightmares hit the real world, you get stab wounds to the tune of 143
The rain fell violently, a relentlessly hard picture caught in a soft small frame


Leave a Reply