8:15pm
24 September 2004

Inescapable

Why do the eyes persist when they shouldn't look?
Or the lips tremble at the thought of a forbidden nearness?
Should the queen now fall before the rook,
her cold strength fading in the arms of the fearless?

Should, for the wind, the sycamore bend?
Should the farmer allow another's livestock in his fields?
How could the living death's imposition try to mend?
How can one escape when love moves in for the kill?

Why does the hand search for what it should not find?
Why does the heart yearn always for the forbidden encounter?
Does the queen not already belong to a king for all time?
How then can her feelings, before a mere rook, falter?

Does not the sycamore have its deep roots engrained
in the nurturing earth that holds it strongly in place?
Would not the farmer loose all he might have gained
by allowing another's gluttonous temptation in its devouring pace?

Is not death the cold end of all life,
resistent forever of our intervention?
Does not love chase its prey, even amidst strife,
and then corners in manners that allow no evasion?

Thus, I, the queen, the sycamore, the farmer,
the living, the hunted succumb to the rook,
to the wind, to the other, to hunter forbidden but wanted
and, terrified at the thought, to you.

Copyright �2004 Surey Rodr�guez