Michelle Hooper

Crysallis

I can't imagine the darkness
You slept in;
I can't imagine the lonely days
The echo of your voice in the emptiness
Reminded you of;
I don't know the slow pending formation
Of the moment upon moment mortar,
When everything seems to encase you,
To question your value to the outside world,
To bind your heart and close your eyes.
But I do know that the wall of stone
You threw yourself against
Was soft with pink womb flesh;
And in the beat of a Mother's heart,
In the palm of a Father's hand,
The curtain of sinew tears tenderly away,
To reveal the magic of crysallis,
A winged creature where once
The pained crawling belly
Could only dream...

Dying Flowers

i remember the day we spoke
of the things that get to you;
through that forty year walled city
and into the fluid soul-yolk
that makes you more like me.

you told me of wildflowers,
plucked from the lips of the sun,
and made to stand proudly
with colored eyes showing no droop,
if their life is to go on.

the moment defeat comes creeping,
a personal winter in the veins,
even while remembering spring,
then you weep for those prisoners
held captive for their beauty,
ripped apart from their natural youth,
and killed for the fickle pleasure
of one who forgets their vibrance so easily.

now i am those uncultivated roses,
withering in the vase of your arms.
and do you also weep for me,
even as you continue to prune away petals
and hope i can find the room to grow
unaided by my roots?

Inevitable

The softer side of nothingness
Teaches me everyday;
Destiny like a starving child
Begs for vows, as she has for centuries,
From all the beautiful dead.
Perfect dreams aren't enough to bribe
The epoch to take the wheel,
Or hit the breaks at eventide;
A frozen glimpse of life kept melting
Forever upon my tongue.

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